To Grow Into Love
by The Solaris
Summary: Lothíriel of Dol Amroth is a young, ambitious girl, seeking for her place in a men's world. Éomer is a young, troubled King, struggling with his newly acquired role. A cold winter in Edoras will change the course of their lives and bound their souls together.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction and no financial profit is made by writing this.

 **Chapter 1**

 _Minas Tirith, 8th October, 3019_

Lothíriel strolled along the path on the top of Minas Tirith's walls and breathed deeply the cool morning air.

The sky was clear, a light breeze blew on the Pelennor Fields. The Anduin flew placid and among the trees on its banks, Lothíriel could see the first colourful omens that autumn was upon them. She turned to look at the city. The scars left from the war were still clearly visible, but so was the effort put at restoring the White City to its former glory. People were thriving, keen on getting back their old life, the one they shared before the shadow of Mordor had spread on Middle Earth.

Over the past year, Lothíriel had got used to waking up early and having her days filled with duties. Of all her brothers, Erchirion had always been the one with a knack for trading and negotiation. But like any other men in Gondor, he had been forced to leave whatever life he had been living, to dedicate himself to war. When Lothíriel had told her father that she wanted to take over her brother's role, Imrahil had been hesitant. In the end, he had conceded that she could have been involved in a few minor deals. But soon enough, it had come out that Erchirion wasn't the only one with a talent in this field. Over and over she had proved herself, and finally her father had made her role official.

Lothíriel sighed. The end of the war and the people resuming their normal life, probably meant Erchirion would take back his role, and she would have to go back to do… _well nothing, really._

Lothíriel continued her stroll and spotted a tall blond figure ahead of her. The man stood, leaning with his hands on the walls' parapet, staring intently on the Fields. She immediately recognized him, for he was indeed the only Rohirric she had had a chance to personally meet, not a month earlier. Hearing her footsteps, he turned and gave her a forced smile before bowing.

"Good morning, Princess Lothíriel. A pleasure to meet you again".

"Same for me, Gamling. I must say I am surprised to see you here again. What brings you back to Minas Tirith so soon after your last visit?", she asked, joining him looking over the Pelennors.

"I am here only for a few days, my Lady, closing some negotiations. That is all. Now, if you will excuse me, a meeting awaits for me". He gave her another small bow and briskly walked down the stairs, without even waiting for her to reply.

Lothíriel stared puzzled at his back.

She had met Gamling shortly after the main party of Gondorian guests had returned from Edoras and the funeral of Théoden King. He had been nothing but kind and friendly, and even indulged her with stories of Rohan during a dinner at her family's house. Her father had told her that the war had hit Rohan harsher than it had in Gondor, and had explained that Gamling was in the city to secure winter provisions for the Mark. Her curiosity arising, she had wanted to ask for more details, but her father had waved away her interest, saying that King Elessar had agreed on sending any spare stock in the crown's possession to Rohan. Lothíriel hadn't been surprised by the King's decision for Gondor, and especially Minas Tirith, owed much to Rohan, and had never thought of it again.

For a moment, she wondered whether the reason behind Gamling's stiffness and reticence, was that Rohan needed more food to go through the winter. But on a second thought, she dismissed the idea. King Elessar would have helped Gamling if Rohan was in real need.

 _No, Gamling is probably here for some other trading agreement._

* * *

Later that day, Lothíriel looked at her own reflex in the mirror of her bedroom, as her handmaid scrupulously made the last arrangements to her hair.

For the evening, she had chosen a simple but elegant gown in a deep red that matched her complexion. Andes, her handmaid, had arranged her long dark hair in a complicated set of braids, kept in place by countless hairpins. As always, the result was stunning. "Andes, no one can match your skills with hair!". Her maid giggled at her comment and looked back at her through the mirror.

She had been her maid for almost one year now, after her old one, Cuileth, had decided to resign her position in order to take care of her sick mother. Andes was Cuileth's nephew, and the older woman had strongly recommended her for the position of handmaid. And Lothíriel was glad she had listened to her advice: only five years her senior, Andes was a lovely, intelligent girl, and they had fast become good friends.

"My Lady, which jewellery would you like to wear this evening?".

Lothíriel looked once more to herself. "I won't wear any, Andes. Father said that despite the King and the Queen will join us, together with Gamling, it will only be an informal dinner. This will be perfect, mostly thanks to your magic hands, I might add!". The two shared a laugh and soon a knock on the door informed them that one of her brothers had come to escort her to dinner.

"Good evening, Andes. Sister, are you ready?", Amrothos greeted them.

He was wearing a tunic in the dark blue of Dol Amroth and had left his hair free. Since the war had ended, he had started to wear them longer than before and they now had grown past his shoulders. They were very similar to hers, dark and wavy. When left free, they gave him a carefree look that he had declared being the death of any Gondorian lady.

Lothíriel smiled affectionately at him. "Tell me, dear brother, do you think I will meet the requirements of our lovely sister in law?". She gave him an exaggerated curtsy and he snorted loudly. "Never, sister, never!".

Giggling, the started towards the hall.

* * *

The following day Minas Tirith awoke to another beautiful autumn morning.

Lothíriel purposefully strode through the fifth level of the city, closely followed by a couple of her father's guards. She entered the yard of a two stores house and saw the owner coming out to welcome her.

"Princess Lothíriel, welcome!".

Lord Cuildir was a man in his sixties, not very tall and quite plump, but with an open smile. He was a minor noble in the White City, and a good merchant. He hailed from Lebennin and she knew that her brother Erchirion, and father before him, had great respect for the man and had often traded with him.

"Lord Cuildir, it is nice to meet you again". She followed the man through the room and up the stairs, where his study was located.

Winters in the south were never too harsh and Lothíriel had worked hard over the past months. As such, the Dol Amroth's food stocks had been replenished and winter did not worry the city by the sea. However, Lothíriel had decided to acquire some additional grain to ensure coverage should something happen. Lord Cuildir had been the obvious choice and she had written him a quick letter before leaving Dol Amroth, saying she would have visited him in the hope of closing a deal for a provision of grain, without further elaborating on the details.

Lord Cuildir looked at her as he held back a chair for her to sit and she had the impression that the man felt slightly at unease.

"Lord Cuildir, I suppose the reason for my visit does not come as a surprise. I was hoping to come to an agreement for a grain's provision to be shipped to Dol Amroth within the next weeks. Our families have a long, profitable history of trading with each other, and…". She stopped mid-sentence. The man was clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed, continuously shifting in his chair, his eyes darting on the surface of his big oak's desk. "Lord Cuildir, is something amiss?".

The man nervously looked at her. As if giving up on finding a more comfortable position, he stood up and moved instead to the window, looking briefly over the city before turning to her. "My Lady, I felt honoured when I received your letter. And please trust me, I would have gladly closed the deal with Dol Amroth. However, the situation has now changed".

"Changed?"

The older man turned again towards the Pelennors, seemingly lost in his thoughts, in his memories. When he spoke, his voice was low but deep, intense: "That day, my Lady, I thought everything to be lost. I thought despair was upon us, I had lost my youngest son, did not know if my oldest lived or whether he had been slain by those foul creatures".

Lothíriel felt torn between annoyance and curiosity. Annoyance that most probably she wouldn't be able to close the deal, and would have to contact somebody else for it. Curiosity at Lord Cuildir's strange behaviour. She patiently waited and after a few moments, the man turned back to her, a resolute look in his eyes.

"If it wasn't for the Rohirrim, we wouldn't have survived until the arrival of King Elessar. That must count for something, no matter what oath stood between them and us".

"I agree, Lord Cuildir. However, I fail to see what does this have to do with our deal?".

The older man sighed but held her eyes. "Just yesterday, an emissary from Rohan has visited me. We have reached an agreement for the whole stock in my possession to be sold and immediately sent to Rohan".

"Would that be Gamling?".

"Yes, my Lady". Lord Cuildir hesitated, before adding: "Princess Lothíriel, please understand, in any other circumstance, I'd have considered our informal correspondence binding itself. However…I can't speak of things I do not know, my Lady, but I have the strong impression that Rohan needs that food provisions, desperately. I could not in good heart refuse Gamling. I hope you won't take offence, Princess".

Lothíriel kept silent for some long moments, letting the information she had just been relieved sink in. "Why do you say so, Lord Cuildir?".

"My Lady, I wouldn't like to be spreading gossips about Rohan. All I know is that I'm not the only merchant Gamling has got in touch with within the last days, for the very same reason".

Lothíriel thought of her meeting with Gamling along the walls. How he had seemed tense and stiff. She thought of how he had dismissed the topic at dinner the evening before. She further pondered what Lord Cuildir had just told her. If it was true, if really Rohan was not ready for winter yet, and if winters in Rohan were even only half as harsh as everybody had been telling her, then why hadn't he told so at dinner? King Elessar, not to mention her father, would have helped without any hesitation. How much did Rohan really need? Would they get enough, in time? Why were they reluctant at asking for further help?

Lothíriel's frown deepened, and she realized Lord Cuildir was still standing before her, waiting for her to say something. "You need not to worry, Lord Cuildir, as no offence was taken. I believe my father will be glad to hear Gondorians are trying to help our good friends of Rohan. I will still count you as one of our most appreciated and respected trading partner".

The man visibly relaxed, giving her a small smile and finally coming to sit at the desk.

* * *

Finding another merchant for the Dol Amroth's supplies would be no hard task. Right now, she was much more interested in Rohan. Depending what the situation really was, she might have had a chance to help and show what she was really capable of.

She thought about finding Gamling, but if he had not wanted to inform the King and her father, she doubted he would speak to her. _There is but one place where I can find some Rohirrim and maybe gather some information_.

She nodded to her guards, and walked to the upper level of the city. It didn't' take long for the building she was thinking of, to come into view.

The House of Healing was not nearly as crowded as it had been the first time she came to Minas Tirith after the end of the war. She had accompanied her father, paying a visit to the Swan Knights in the care of the healers. Her father had asked her to talk to those who were staying in the gardens, while he walked inside. She knew why. He had been trying to shield her from witnessing the worse of it. She had heard her father and brothers talking of mangled bodies, crippled men, whispering to each other when they thought she would not hear them. She had thought the thing ridiculous, for even though she had never been into battle, she knew what war was. But upon speaking with the knights lying in the gardens, meaning the ones who were faring the better, she had realized that she didn't know nearly that much. And she honestly didn't want to.

She had felt so inadequate in front of those men, hadn't known what to say. Everything seemed so obvious, so useless. She had walked to each single one of them. Even as the words had come out of her mouth, she had thought them silly. She had thanked them for their heroic efforts, wished them a full recover, offered the support of the House of Dol Amroth. Some of them had smiled, some had only blankly stared at her, making her feel uncomfortable if not even scared by the emptiness in their eyes.

That day, she and her father had walked back to their house in silence.

The garden of the House of Healing was now once again simply that: a garden. A few people were passing by and Lothíriel had no problem at being granted access, simply saying she had come to visit her father's Knights. _It's just a half lie, in the end._

Only few of them were still resting here, recovering from injuries that would never be really healed.

Lothíriel breathed deeply before entering the first room. A man lay in the bed, his face sunken and pale, dark straight hair giving him an even more daunted look. Lothíriel let her eyes slide along his thin body, covered by a white blanket despite the warm sun filtering the room. The way the blanket perfectly fell on the bottom half of the bed, barely a wrinkle here in there, reminded her that there was a reason why these men were still here after so many months. She swallowed, trying to resist the urge to turn and flee.

It wasn't until much later, that Lothíriel left the room of the last of the Swan Knights resting in the House of Healing. She sighed deeply, taking a moment to close her eyes and trying to regain her posture. Over the past weeks, she knew her father had regularly visited these men. He had never again asked her to join him, and she had never spared a second thought about it. Today, she had only come because she wanted to gather information from the Rohirrim soldiers. She had claimed a visit to her father's knights only to be given quick access and had thought that she would quickly greet them before moving on with the real reason behind her visit.

 _Stupid Lothíriel, what were you thinking? Why did you come here at all? Why did you never come back over the past weeks?_

She could admirably hold herself in any negotiation, but she had felt at complete loss in front of these men. What could she possibly tell them, that would help them or lift their spirit? Past could not be changed and their bodies would never return to what they used to be.

She thought of the reason that had brought her there and felt herself shrinking.

A healer passed by and gave her a curious look. Lothíriel shook herself and slowly walked down the corridor leading to the gardens. The fresh air made her feel better and she breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. _You will come back to visit them, Lothíriel, you will._

In and out, in and out. She spotted a faired hair man at a window. _You will come back, and you will see to this matter with Rohan, but not like this._

She nodded to her guards and headed outside, into the busy streets, and from there, again up: King Elessar was hosting Gamling, and that was where she was going.

Once arrived at Merethrond, a servant informed her that she had seen Gamling going towards the stables. She thanked the maid and went for the stables herself, without further hesitation. Her own mare, Bethril, was hosted there. _It seems today is a day for long neglected visits._

Upon entering the building Lothíriel noted a bucket, filled with apples, hanging on the side. She gingerly took one and looked around for Bethril. Her mare was in a box nearby the door and she greeted her nuzzling her shoulders and immediately reaching for her treat. Lothíriel laughed and patted her neck. She wasn't a big horse, but she was a lovely one, perfectly appropriate for the daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth, with her light grey coat.

Her concentration on her mare, she didn't hear Gamling approaching her until the last moment.

"She is a fine horse, my Lady".

"Yes, she is, Gamling. Though your big war horses make her look almost like a pony!", she laughed softly, throwing a look at his big stallion, his head pocking out of his box, as if checking on whom his master was speaking to.

"Gamling, I hope you will forgive me for being so straight forward, but I haven't come to visit my horse. I was actually hoping to have a few words with you", she said bluntly.

Gamling raised his eyebrows, clearly wondering what a Princess of Gondor would want to discuss with him. "We Rohirric are very forward people, my Lady. You shall never excuse yourself for plain speaking with us. Actually, we will deeply appreciate it!".

Lothíriel nodded and turned back to her horse. "The reason for my presence in Minas Tirith, is that I was hoping to purchase some extra grain provision for Dol Amroth from Lord Cuildir. However, when I met the man this morning, I was informed that the provisions had been already sold".

She did not need to look at the man to see his posture stiffening, and she thought he was clenching his fists. "I am sorry for the inconvenience, Princess…", he started to say through clenched teeth. But Lothíriel did not let him finish.

"It was no inconvenience, Gamling. However, it had me thinking. I was under the impression, and I know for sure that the same goes for my father and King Elessar as well, that Rohan was at this point already well prepared for winter. I thought you were here for negotiating the trading of further goods. But you are not, are you?".

"With no offence intended, my Lady, this is none of your business".

Lothíriel took a better look at the man, and realized that even more than tense, he seemed angry. "None taken, Gamling. And none intended when I say that if our northern allies are facing difficulties, that is indeed our business".

"Gondor and King Elessar have already given plenty of help".

 _Is that why they haven't voiced their concerns? Pride?_

"Yes, Gamling, and I see you are proficiently taking care of the problem. I am not saying you shall beg for further provisions, just that somebody with a deeper knowledge of Gondor and of trading, might help you moving around more…efficiently, shall we say?".

"And that person would be _you_?". Lothíriel felt annoyed by his tone, but kept herself in check.

"I may be a Princess and I may be young, but I have proven myself far and wide, when it comes to trade. However, I would not impose myself on you, there are others who may support your query".

Gamling sighed, shifting his weight from one feet to the other, giving her an apologetic look. "I am sorry, Lady Lothíriel, I did not mean to belittle you. You shall know that your father speaks very highly of your role during the war, you made him and Dol Amroth proud, Princess".

Lothíriel waved his apology away. "Just tell me this, Gamling: will you be able to secure whatever is needed, in time?".

The look he gave her, spoke in volumes. "I hope so, my Lady. But time is short, and we need provisions to be sent to Rohan in early enough to be distributed before the first snowfalls. And the list of merchants I need to meet is still long".

"May I ask whom you have already met and who is on your list?".

Gamling had clearly been very busy. He had already closed three agreements and was to meet more merchants, both in Minas Tirith and in Pelargir, within the next days. However, Lothíriel could not help but noticing that one name was missing on the list. A big name, the one man Gamling should have spoken to immediately.

"What about Lord Arondir, Gamling? Have you considered speaking to him? I am not sure of how much grain we are speaking of, but he might be able to provide you with all the stocks you need, in one single move".

Anger flashed again in Gamling's eyes, clearer as ever before. He seemed to be taking a moment to recompose himself before answering her, as if he was struggling to keep calm. "I did, my Lady. He is the first person I met. However, the conditions he has offered were…not acceptable".

"Not acceptable?", she prompted him.

"Éomer King would not have appointed me this task, if he hadn't been sure that Rohan had enough funds available to pay for the provisions. But Lord Arondir has requested a price more than three times higher than the average one, he has refused to negotiate, and has even added a further request as payment".

Lothíriel arched one eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. "Horses, my Lady. A supply of black Rohirric horses to be delivered before the winter".

Lothíriel looked at him with wide eyes and a thousand questions spinning in her head.

* * *

 _Edoras, 11th October, 3019_

Sitting by the big desk in King Théoden's study, now his study, Éomer stood at the parchment in front him, his fingers trembling in anger, crumpling the paper.

The last months had been one big, long, endless nightmare. After the last guests had left Edoras after Théoden's funeral, he had spent weeks visiting the Mark, trying to figure out the real extension of the damages that war had brought upon them. He had been in Aldburg and at the Hornburg, of course. But he had pushed himself to the West and East Emnet as well, and even to the Wold, as much as time allowed it.

He had known the situation to be grim, but reality had widely surpassed his first assessments.

The Westfold had been largely and thoroughly sacked by the armies of Saruman, virtually no village had been left standing, no crop had been spared. The Westfold, the farming heart of Rohan, had looked no more than a desolate moor.

Some people had tried to start over, going back to whatever was left of their villages, trying to repair and rebuild. But wood was scarce and winter close, and Éomer knew they would not be able to stay there, when the winds would scour the plains and the snow would cover the land.

Wherever he rode, he had seen many women, many children, some elderly. Of the few men, many showed signs of what war had really costed them. Crippled bodies, of riders who will never again wield a sword or hold a shield. The faces of his people had haunted him ever since. Faces speaking of hunger, children all bones being awkwardly silent and calm, as if resigned to their fate.

The situation had not been better elsewhere. Their herds had been decimated and not much was left of the true heart of Rohan. Same went for the livestock, what with orcs having slaughtered the most of them.

When he had returned to Edoras, ten days earlier, he had felt despair and frustration at his impuissance, anger at what his people had gone through and what was still to be faced. The help that Aragorn had granted them, having him bitterly swallowing his pride, would not suffice. He had underestimated the gravity of the situation, and was left with small time to remedy.

He had immediately dispatched Gamling back to Minas Tirith, knowing that they would need to use until the very last of their resources if they wanted their people to have a chance at surviving the winter.

While impatiently waiting for good news from Gamling, his days had felt into a routine made of meetings with his advisors, of reading endless records coming from all over the Mark, of trying to make plans at how to save his subjects. He would wake up at first light and retire late, his nights plagued by nightmares.

He couldn't even remember anymore the first time he had had a nightmare. For years, the bloody images of his riders and friends falling and dying, had tormented him. Now he had different types of nightmares. In his dreams, starving children would stare at him through dead eyes, a new generation of Rohirrim that would never come to be. His advisors would rightfully accuse him of having failed as a King, his friends would turn their backs to him.

It seemed like a cruel fate was turning upon him, and for every step forward he thought they had made, they would inexorably make three backs.

Just a few weeks earlier he had been informed of women and children occupying the ruined rests of a village, less than a day from Edoras. He had ordered them to be brought to the capital, where they could be hosted in some of the cottages left empty by the heavy toll of the war. It had seemed the best thing to do, his advisors had promptly agreed. He had dispatched a small guard to do the task, feeling confident in the decreasing number of attacks from orcs, especially so close to the city. But when the group had failed to show up at the gates of the city, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had taken over him. Ignoring the complaints from his advisors, he had ridden himself toward the ruined settlement, followed by his Guard.

The folks hadn't made it far from the village. The foul creatures must have ambushed them and only left behind half burned and half eaten corpses lying in the mud. He had wanted to scream at the top his lung, but had not said a word instead. They had tried to track them down, but a downpour of rain had soon covered the orcs' tracks, making it impossible.

Once again, he had underestimated the situation and, as a consequence, people had died. Of a horrible death.

After that day, his nightmares had worsened, if even possible. He had immerged himself into the duties of Kingship, barely sleeping and only quickly eating something in his study. Always frowning, always angry, always expecting the worse, always feeling the failure he was being to his own people. Not even lying with women brought him the respite it used to.

Aefre was the daughter of a small merchant of Edoras who had died on the Pelennors. Her brother had fought as well and had come back. Part of him, at least, as he had lost a leg on the very same fields. But he was a young man with great spirit, and upon coming back to Edoras he had taken over his father's business, and seemed to be doing a fine job out of it. Aefre was always by his side, helping him in the shop and sharing with him a small cottage near the Riddermarket. She was one of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, with long blond hair and deep blue eyes.

The first time she had sought him out, it had been only a couple of days after the slaughter of the villagers near Edoras. He had been tending to Firefoot, trying to stop his whirling thoughts. She had approached him in the Royal Stables and he had greedily taken what comfort she was offering.

It had been too long since the last time he had been with a woman, well before the war's end for sure. After the war, he had been too busy, too many concerns crowding his mind. He had had no time to care for women, may them be wenches or potential wives.

But damn if it had been good, even if only for that short instance, when the whole world disappears and it was only him and the pleasure shooting through his body. He had poured all that he had, his anger, his powerlessness, his emptiness, into that act. It hadn't been gentle, nor sweet. And she had been fine with it.

Soon, she had taken to join him in Meduseld. Late at night, she would come and sought him out, whether in his study or in his room.

Once she had showed up during the day. She had entered his study while he was in the middle of reading a letter reporting the status of the Westfold's most isolated communities. A malicious smile had curved her lips and she had walked towards him, swaying her hips and slowly unlacing her gown. He had lifted his head from the letter, feeling anger mounting inside him at her sight. He had stood up and taking it as an encouragement, she had come closer to him, purring in that low voice of her, "I thought you might enjoy a break from your daily activities, my King".

 _Daily activities_.

He did lose his control, then.

He had fiercely grabbed her by her wrist and forcefully shovelled her through the door and into the empty corridor. She had stumbled back, losing her equilibrium, falling with a shocked expression painted on her beautiful face. She had held her wrist and had sat there, on the cold floor, perfectly still.

"Never dare to do that again", he had just hissed her, before shutting closed the door.

He had almost thought that she would not have showed up later that night, and indeed he would have deserved it. But as he was laying in his huge bed, completely naked, he had heard the door slowly opening, and had seen her entering the room without any hesitation.

He had looked up at her, at once relieved and annoyed. "You are late" he had told her, and she had diligently taken off her clothes and joined him on the bed.

A sound coming from the Hall brought him back to the present. Éomer looked back at the crumpled letter in his hands and felt a familiar pulsing on his right temple. _Damned headache_. He pressed the palm of his hand to that throbbing point, just above his eyebrow, his eyes scanning again through the parchment. Lord Arondir.

He had met the man at the Cormallen. A good fighter on the field and an insufferable snooty bore outside.

He knew he belonged to the highest nobility, and Amrothos had told him that he was one of the richest man in all Gondor. That Lord Arondir despised the Rohirrim was as clear as the day, to him. But he had hoped that they could do business together. But if what Gamling had written was true, he had anything but refused, putting impossible conditions on the table. Impossible because Rohan could not pay that much, not in terms of gold, even less in terms of horses.

If they had hoped for a quick solution to their problems, if they had thought that they could have bought all the provisions they needed from the one man who was alone in possession of enough of them, they had been sorely mistaken. Gamling would now be forced to go door by door, visiting virtually any big and small merchant in Gondor, negotiating every time on a price, on a delivery.

If there was a man for the job in the whole Rohan, that was Gamling. He knew he could trust him, but at this point it was also clear that they would never get enough provisions for everybody before winter.

 _People will starve to death._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _Minas Tirith, 13_ _th_ _October, 3019_

Three days had passed since Lothíriel conversation with Gamling in the stables. That day, she had wasted no time.

She had rushed to find her father and after explaining the situation, Imrahil had agreed that her support to Gamling in this matter was way more urgent than taking care of some extra provisions for Dol Amroth. She knew that had Erchirion been in the White City, he would have appointed the task to him without second thought. But alas, her brother was in Dol Amroth now, and she was the next most suitable person for the job. But even under the current circumstances, even after all she had achieved in the past months, she had sensed some hesitation from her father.

Herself and Gamling had spent the last two days almost always together. She had provided him with further names of merchants to be contacted and, most importantly, she had helped him ordering and prioritizing his meetings. Gamling was a brilliant man and was doing a great job, but he was no Gondorian and lacked the deep knowledge that she had. She knew exactly what each trader could offer and had a good idea of the quantities involved. In this way, they ensured priority would be given to those who were able to provide larger amounts of provisions, so that they could be sent to Rohan as soon as possible to be further distributed.

She had also accompanied him on a few meetings, but Gamling was an able negotiator and she had decided that he wouldn't need her help, unless specific circumstances demanded it.

This had given her time to pursue another task.

Ever since their conversation in the stables, Lothíriel had been mulling over and over about what Gamling had told her of Lord Arondir. Granted, the man was insufferable and despised anybody who didn't belong to the highest nobility like him. Which meant he despised most of the people. And given his attitude, she wasn't too surprised that he had shown no love for the Rohirrim, considering them unworthy and looking down upon them. But Lord Arondir was also a smart and capable business man. His family had not become one of the richest in all Gondor by refusing good deals just because they disliked their trading partner.

Rohan had made a good offer for his stocks of grain. With one single agreement, he would have placed the whole of it. A good, quick, easy deal. She could perfectly see him trying to pull up the terms to his favour, but the price he had asked was simply ridiculous. Not to mention the whole horse thing.

She had visited his house in Minas Tirith a couple of times, when accompanying her father or at official events. There weren't even proper stables, only barely enough space to host his personal mounts. Was he planning to send the horses to his estate along the coast and enter the business? It seemed unlikely.

For centuries, his house had been building a fortune on trading, and food was but a small part of it. Irrelevant in terms of revenues, but very relevant from a political point of view, as it had granted them leverage over the Stewards in more than one occasion. The real wealth, lay in their lands along the coast. And, to be more precise, in the gold mines starring them. Thinking that all of a sudden he had decided to start breeding horses, sounded just silly.

But Lothíriel was not somebody who would surrender easily. As Elphir liked to remind her every now and then, she could be as stubborn as a mule. If she could find out the reasons behind Lord Arondir behaviour, she thought she might still be able to close a deal with him. A deal that would ensure Gamling, and Rohan, with the provisions they needed, and on time.

The plan was that she would support Gamling in his errands as much as he needed. At the same time, she would investigate the matter with Lord Arondir. Would she be able to find out something and gain some sort of leverage against the man, she would close a deal with him, and Dol Amroth would take over any agreement already signed by Gamling. He had been reluctant when she had informed him and for a moment she had been afraid he would just yell at her to leave Lord Arondir out of this, that he wanted to have nothing to do with the man. But he had thought better of it, even though he had given the clear impression of somebody swallowing a particularly bitter morsel.

Lothíriel and her guards stopped at the door of a nice small house on the fifth level of the city. She gently knocked at the door, and soon enough she was welcomed inside.

"Princess Lothíriel, welcome! Oh my, look at yourself! Last time I saw you, you were but a young girl, trying to convince her father on the suitability of a light-yellow silk for his new tunic!". Curunir's warm smile welcomed her and she laughed heartily at the man. She remembered perfectly all the times she had come here with father. Everytime, the man would offer her a sweet treat and give her some silk straps to play with.

Curunir had been for the longest time the most renamed tailor of all Minas Tirith, if not Gondor. He traded in the best silks of the whole Middle Earth and his creations were worn by each and every noble who could afford them. _And there aren't many who can pay such prices_.

But Lord Arondir was a man whose wealth was only evened by his vanity and as such, she knew he was a regular customer here. Curunir was a nice old man and she was aware he wouldn't be keen on sharing gossip. But she hoped she could get some hints here, on how Lord Arondir was faring. So, with the excuse that she wanted to commission a gift to her father, she entered the house.

High shelfs, loaded with fabrics of every colour, stood against the walls. A few props were in a corner, showing the work in progress of his latest creations. Lothíriel wasted no more time and explained Curunir the reason for her visit, describing the tunic she had in mind for her father and giving rough indications about which colours she wished for.

One of the reasons he was such a good tailor, was how he could understand his customers, how he could envision exactly what they wanted, after being given only a few general indications. Curunir carefully wrote everything down, nodding and encouraging her to further describe what she had in mind. Once satisfied, he fell quiet for a few minutes, only the scratching on the paper breaking the silence of the room. When he finally looked up, he gave her just the right cue, by speaking in a slightly embarrassed tone: "Lady Lothíriel, I will be happy and very proud of realizing this tunic for your father. However, I need to inform you that it will take me some time before I will be able to deliver it. You see, Princess, after the end of the war I have received so many commissions that I find myself quite busy at the moment!".

"Ah, I see the nobles of Minas Tirith have wasted no time at ensuring the very best outfits for the feasts to come! Well, I wasn't expecting anything different, to be honest. Do not fret yourself, for I am not in a hurry. And indeed, I am very glad to hear your business is thriving! Why, just a couple of weeks ago I spotted Lord Turgon and Lord Duilin wearing some of your finest creations in the King's hall!". Curunir nodded at her, adding some final touches at his sketch. "Ah, yes, yes. You have good eyes, Princess! They have been keeping me very busy!".

Lothíriel tried to press on: "And I have yet to meet Lord Arondir, I imagine he is keeping you the busiest of all!". Curunir never lifted his eyes from the sketch, working over and over on some detail at the front of the tunic: "You are right, my Lady. Lord Arondir had been one of my best customers". _Had?_

"Had?".

Hastily, the tailor explained himself: "Oh don't misunderstand me, Princess. He is, one of my best customers. I am sure he has been very busy as of late, for I haven't seen in months, since well before the war ended, actually". He gave her a smile and moved back to the sketch, clearly uncomfortable and hoping she would not make further inquiries.

 _Lord Arondir so busy to even neglect his own appearance? Unlikely._ But Lothíriel did not want to further embarrass the man, and she anyway doubted he would know more.

* * *

Later that day, Lothíriel observed once more amazed at the way Andes had arranged her hair, a complicated weaving of braids intertwining with each other and held in place by some silver silky ribbons. _And I can merely make a decent braid._

"Andes, what would I do without you?". Her maid giggled, passing her a velvet box: "I think it would fit you perfectly, my Lady".

It was one of her mother's jewellery. A necklace made of different silver chains holding several blue pendants, with a pair of matching earrings. Lothíriel touched one of the pendant, trying to remember her mother's face, trying to imagine how she would have looked like when wearing this necklace.

She had been but a small child when she had passed away, and she felt almost ashamed at admitting that she could not remember her features anymore. She remembered she had been a caring, loving mother. She remembered how she would bring her on the beach, how she would sit with her on the sand, building castles and telling her stories of ancient Princesses.

But she could not remember her features. In her memories, her mother was but a blurry figure next to her. Lothíriel sighed and took of the necklace: "Thank you, Andes, this will be perfect".

It was true. The silver matched the ribbons in her hairs, the blue pendants matched her gown. _A true Swan Princess._ She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, before reaching the rest of her family downstairs, for an official gathering was to take place in Merethrond that evening.

Lothíriel passed through the heavy doors and stepped inside the crowded hall on her father's arm. And soon, she felt a smile growing on her face.

She had always enjoyed these type of events, but never had many opportunities to attend them, what with war upon them. She enjoyed the elegant dresses of the men and the expensive silks of the ladies' gowns; she enjoyed engaging the former in discussions they thought her unfit of, and she enjoyed the meaningless and empty chats she would share with the latter.

And today, the event would also provide her with a good opportunity to have a chat with one specific Lady. Lothíriel scanned the crowd of nobles, until her eyes rested on a beautiful Lady in her forties, dressed in a refined deep purple gown and sporting a big matching pendant on her generous neckline. _Whatever is keeping her husband from spending a fortune in new dresses, it clearly does not affect her_.

Excusing herself from her father, Lothíriel slowly walked towards Lady Erthil, while on the other side of the hall her husband was engaged in conversation with Elphir. Despite the cool autumn air, the hall was indeed very warm and Lothíriel caught sight of Lady Erthil annoyingly fanning herself. Seizing her chance, she grabbed two goblets filled with a cool, light red wine, and extended one to her: "This hall is insufferably warm today, Lady Erthil, wouldn't you agree?".

Lady Erthil gave her the smallest bow with her head: "Princess Lothíriel, you could not find me more agreeing on this. It seems like _every last_ _noble_ has decided to join this evening". _Every last noble, meaning small and insignificant, I suppose._

"Would you fancy a walk on the balcony, Lady Erthil?".

"Gladly, Princess Lothíriel. Some fresh air would be welcomed".

Still holding to their goblets, they headed outside. Lady Erthil stopped just a few steps from the windows, turning her face the crowded hall: "Lady Lothíriel, I must say it is good to finally have you back in Minas Tirith".

Inwardly, Lothíriel rolled her eyes, for she knew that her role in Dol Amroth during the last months of the war had been looked down upon here. Outwardly, she only gave her a small smile: "And I am glad of being back, Lady Erthil. I must say I have missed this", she said, nodding towards the hall, "and I am truly enjoying myself. A pity that men do not seem to be able to do that, always talking about business". Nonchalantly, she looked at Elphir and Lord Arondir, still deeply engaged in conversation. There wasn't much light on the terrace, but she thought Lady Erthil seemed quite annoyed.

"Ah, do not tell me, Princess. Over the last months, I have rarely seen my husband, what with his continuous visits to the western countryside and spending most of his time at our house in Pelargir".

Lothíriel would have liked to know more, but at that moment some other ladies joined them on the terrace, and the discussion quickly switched to more flighty topics.

* * *

Later that evening, as she was comfortably lying in her bed, Lothíriel thought back of her day and the information she had managed to gather so far.

The clothes business had seemed odd, but she wasn't sure what to make out of it, for Lord Arondir's wealth could not be debated. Even more odd, had been what lady Erthil had told her. While staying in Pelargir could be easily justified by trading reasons, what business did he have in _the western countryside_ , as she had put it? The land she thought she was referring to, hosted farms and livestock. Most of Gondor's meat and cheeses came from that region, but this was not Lord Arondir's typical area of business. _Could he be considering entering the trade of cattle and horses?_ Sure enough, it was a possibility. But she thought it highly unlikely, especially with respect to horses.

Dol Amroth had the only chivalry of all Gondor and took great pride in their horses and their breeding. Her father had already secured an agreement with Rohan for acquiring some of their horses, once the herds had recovered. And such horses, with their good share of mearas blood, were not only expensive, but also needed expert trainers and riders. Outside of Dol Amroth, few would have been willing to pay for them. No, it simply wasn't a good business idea.

Still musing on the topic and trying to make sense of it, Lothíriel fell into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

Five days later, Lothíriel stretched her back while riding Bethril.

Two nights sleeping in a bedroll had surely proved to be a new experience, but not at all a comfortable one.

The day after the gathering in Merethrond, she had sought out her father and told him about what she had learnt. He had been surprised as well, but could not offer any reasonable explanation. However, he had suggested that she should speak to her cousin. Faramir had spent the last months mostly in Pelargir, trying to set a new start of hopefully productive and long-lasting relationships with the various Guilds. As such, her father had suggested he might have known more about Lord Arondir's businesses in the port city.

At first, Lothíriel had thought about the most obvious option: writing him a letter. However, some of the merchants Gamling had to meet next, were indeed in Pelargir. She had therefore decided to kill two birds with one stone and accompany the Rohirrim there.

Pelargir rested a good hundred miles from Minas Tirith, on the mouth of the Anduin. Truth to be told, she would have rather travelled in a carriage. But she knew time was the one thing Rohan was short of, and travelling on horseback was considerably quicker. Now, three days into the ride and almost in view of Pelargir, she felt bone tired but glad that she had decided to join Gamling and his riders on this trip. The man would ride next to her most of the time and had never seemed annoyed by the endless flow of questions that she had directed at him.

At night, they would all sit around a fire, eating some stew and listening to him telling stories of the past Kings of Rohan. Lothíriel had felt immediately so intrigued, so fascinated, by the way he would tell those tales, slowly building around them this atmosphere, as if they were actually part of the story itself and nothing else around them existed. He had explained her that in Rohan, history, legends, knowledge, were passed down from generation to generation pretty much in the same way. While it was in theory possible to write in Rohirric, the language itself had never been coded. As such, passing on orally was fundamental for the people of the Mark.

Sometimes he had even sung, along with his riders, some traditional songs. And even though she could not understand the meaning of those words, she had not felt less captivated by his deep voice and the way it had seemed to merge with the low humming of the other men, telling tales of a lifetime ago. Every night, despite knowing she wouldn't find a comfortable bed, she had gone to sleep with a serene smile on her face.

It was almost noon when Lothíriel, shifting and trying once again to give her back some form of respite, finally spotted Pelargir on the horizon. _Perfect timing._

They entered the city from the North-Eastern gate and proceeded towards the central courts. The streets were crowded with people and bursting with commercial activities, and they were forced to dismount and proceed on foot.

As the road gently curved on the left, Lothíriel's attention was caught as usual by the various glassmakers' shop. There was something almost magical in their art, and she found herself once again hypnotized by the way their confident moves could turn a shapeless mass of glass into such graceful creations. Turning to Gamling, she realized she wasn't the only one who was fascinated by this delicate form of art. Lothíriel slowed down as she walked by a shop selling some beautiful glass goblets, each in a different colour and form. One had a deep green vessel held by a beautifully crafted golden seahorse. _Switch the seahorse for a normal horse and you have a chalice worthy of the king of the Horselords._

Proceeding straight, they approached a bridge and slowly stepped into the Ancient Market. Here, the streets seemed even more packed with people, and Lothíriel was grateful for the guards surrounding her and making way, for she doubted she could have done it alone.

They crossed the whole Ancient Market and after passing through another bridge, they finally arrived in the Quarter of the Faithful. Here, their roads split. Gamling proceeded West, to the Spouting Whale Inn, a popular place among merchants and young nobles. There, he was to meet three minor nobles of the port city to close a deal for further provisions. Lothíriel proceeded instead with her Swan guards towards the southern corner of the Quarter of the Faithful, where all the nobles' houses were concentrated. The area was definitely the poorest of all Pelargir when it came to docks, but the richest and most refined in terms of entertainment and dining options.

Lothíriel still had a couple of hours before her meeting with Faramir and, feeling quite ravenous, she decided to stop at the Bar Laurelach to eat some fresh fish. The place was one of her and her father's favourite in the whole Pelargir and offered a nice glimpse of the Anduin, otherwise hidden by the high facades of the nobles' houses.

Opposite the Bar Laurelach, looking out on the river, was the biggest house of all, its travertine shining almost painfully white in the direct sunlight. _Lord Arondir's residence in Pelargir._ The house was flanked by other nobles' houses on the right side, while on the left a big dock, surely the biggest of this part of the city, separated it from the Gardens of Lintoron. _One of the biggest, and one of the oldest_.

The dock lay in an optimal position, looking directly over the Anduin and towards the sea. Probably for this very reason it had been one of the first docks to be built in Pelargir. In ancient times, this part of the city had been controlled and managed by the Guild of the Fishermen, whom the dock belonged to. However, during the Third Age, and especially over the last few centuries, the Quarter of the Faithful had slowly become the residence of the highest nobles of Pelargir and Gondor. Bars and inns had slowly but inexorably spread, while the commercial activities and the fish market had migrated to the adjacent Gobel Eärnin.

The dock of the Guild of the Fishermen had resisted the changes and made today quite the contrast. On the one side the polished houses of the nobility, ladies in elegant gowns moving around and enjoying the refined food and entertainment. On the other side, just a few feet from them, fishermen and dock's workers hurrying around, de-loading the ships from their latest catch, shouting at each other and struggling to load the fresh fish on the small carriages that would carry it to the market.

That was actually the problem, and the reason why the fishermen's dock seemed so decadent. A bigger and more modern dock had been built in Gobel Eärnin by the Guild of the Merchants. It wasn't far from there, but it was much better served. Wide roads and a clever planning of the area made it easier for the sailors to move their cargo into big carriages and have it delivered to the adjacent markets. Despite the higher fee requested by the Guild of the Merchants, many fishermen were already preferring that dock, for it would grant them an easier and smoother unloading and a better service for their vessels.

The Guild of the Fishermen had already had hard times during the war, when the frequent attacks from the Corsairs had made their job even more dangerous. And now, with the competition of the Guild of the Merchants, their resources were as low as ever and their dock clearly in ruin.

Lothíriel's musing was interrupted when she was presented with her meal. Her stomach gave a low growl and the delicious smell made her mouth water.

* * *

 _Edoras, 16_ _th_ _October, 3019_

Five days after Gamling's first missive had reached Edoras, another courier approached the city.

Éomer had been in the middle of one of his usual, endless, council meetings, staring at a desk loaded with parchments, maps, archives, records.

After reading Gamling's first letter, he and the Council had agreed that even if he would have succeeded in purchasing enough provisions, there would not have been enough time to distribute them across Rohan. The obvious solution had been to aggregate people in the biggest cities, namely Edoras, Aldburg and the Hornburg, as this would also provide them with better shelter and protection. A fairly easy plan on paper, not so in reality.

Erkenbrand, who Éomer had appointed Marshal of the Westmark, would take care of bringing as many people as possible at the Hornburg. But as the past weeks had largely proved, orcs were still roaming though Rohan. Using the mountains as a hideout, they were often raiding the plains, retreating back immediately afterwards. While they did not represent anymore the threat they were during the war, when Saruman had still lingered in Isengard, they were nevertheless a danger. Especially to isolated communities or small parties of travellers.

As such, Erkenbrand had been forced to split his Éored to escort people from their villages to the Hornburg. That alone, was making the process terribly slower. And if that wasn't enough, Rohirrim were proving as stubborn as ever. Many of those who had survived Saruman's incursions and the war, had gone back to their ruined villages, trying for a new start. And they were being reluctant at leaving again.

Elfhelm, now Marshal of the Eastmark, was facing very similar troubles, while trying to bring people to Aldburg. But where the biggest troubles laid, was in the East Emnet and especially in the Wold. Only a few fixed settlements were scattered across their plains, for the herdsman that populated the region were mainly living a nomadic life. Most of those who had survived the war, had gone back to the Wold after returning from Gondor, but they had only a very approximate idea of how many people they were talking about. An unknown number of Rohirric, spread in the furthest and northernmost area of Rohan, continuously moving across endless plains. _How are we ever going to find them and bring them back before winter starts?_

Upon hearing the door to the council chamber being opened, Éomer lifted his eyes from the map he was looking at. His frown deepened as he recognized the Gondorian courier, passing him a letter from Gamling. Calling for a break, he retired to his study to read the missive, already bracing himself for more bad news.

Once he finished reading, he put the paper down on his desk, looking pensively out of the window.

He had met Prince Imrahil during the fight on the Pelennor Fields, when him and his Swan Knights had come to his rescue. Later that day, it had been the Prince who had realized that Éowyn yet lived, and had rushed her to the House of Healing with Aragorn. Imrahil was an honourable man, a great warrior and a wise and respected leader. After the end of the war, he had often offered him council, and on the long way from Minas Tirith to Edoras, escorting King Théoden to his final rest, he had been a great support.

Prince Imrahil was very Gondorian while not being Gondorian at the same time. At least according to Éomer's idea of Gondorians, that is. He shared the Gondorians' looks and finesse, but there was more to him. He wasn't snobbish and he had never looked down upon him, or his people, as lesser men. Éomer had always felt comfortable in his presence and had had a great deal of fun with him and his sons, during the post-war celebrations.

He had never met his daughter. All he knew was her name, Lothíriel, and that she had been left in charge of any trading activity involving Dol Amroth. His experience with Imrahil and his sons, especially the younger ones, demanded him to feel positive about her involvement in the matter. Still, it was a Gondorian Princess they were talking about. _Béma have mercy!_

He had met his good share of Gondorian ladies while in Minas Tirith. The only thing that could even their beauty, was their unbearableness. True, there had been a lady whose company he had enjoyed during the endless dinners. And needless to say, she was related to Imrahil. Lady Irviniel was a woman in her seventies with a great spirit, who had saved him in more than one occasion from hungry ladies and their not so subtle ways. _I hope for Gamling it is a younger version of Irviniel we are talking about._

* * *

Later on, as he reported the news to the Council, he was met with rather unimpressed faces. Clearly, his advisors deemed unrealistic that a Gondorian princess would succeed where Gamling had failed. Éomer shared their scepticism, but at this point they had anyway nothing to lose. As the sun was setting behind the White Mountains, Éomer stood up, willing to close the council's activities for the day. A pile of parchments was still waiting for him in his study: estimation of livestock, assessments of the few storages left untouched by the war, lists of further goods that Rohan would need coming spring.

However, the Council seemed not be done with him yet. From the side, Lord Éorcanstan and Lord Fastred stood up: "There is another matter we would like to discuss, my Lord". _Surprise, surprise, let me guess…_

Éomer cut him short: "If it's again about finding a wife, you can stop it there, for I am not about to pick one".

He gave them one of those glares that normally would have people running for cover, hoping they would leave the topic once and for all. However, despite being clearly at unease, Lord Fastred kept going on: "We are very aware that any discussion on this topic has proved so far futile. Nevertheless, we feel like insisting. Rohan needs an heir to secure the succession, and Meduseld needs a Queen. An alliance with Gondor would bring us great benefit. As it would a bride from either the Westmark, or the Eastmark. However, the need of an heir far surpasses the one of building alliances, what with Lady Éowyn marrying Lord Faramir next springs. Therefore, the Council would not be opposed to another match".

Éomer's eyes shifted suspiciously from him to the other members of the Council, having an idea where all of this was going to: "And pray tell, who would this _other match_ be?".

Lord Éorcanstan spoke this time: "My Lord, it is well known that Léofara's daughter has been a constant presence in Meduseld over the past weeks. Both her father and her brother, Wídfara, have fought valiantly during the war and are respected members of the community, therefore we…".

"No!".

He hadn't intended to shout it, but he did. A couple of advisors jumped in their seats, others shifted uncomfortably. _The nerve of these men! Taking Aefre as wife! This must be the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard!_

It was true: Aefre had visited his bed chamber almost every night over the past month and a half. And in that time, he had spoken to her no more than a half dozen times. She knew what their relationship was as much as he did. If she had had any doubt, it had been cleared up the day she had showed up in his study during the day. Truth to be told, he had felt ashamed of the way he had mishandled her, scared by the awareness that he had been so very close to slap her face. He had stopped at the very last moment, limiting himself at throwing her out of the study. He hadn't spoken with anybody about it, let alone with Aefre.

During his years as a rider first and as Marshal then, he had often found respite from the horrors of the war in the arms of a different woman each time. The morning after he would take the road again, knowing more horrors were awaiting him, but feeling his spirit ever so slightly lightened. Now, he didn't know why, but lying with Aefre wasn't even bringing him that. It all came to that short moment when he would find his release, that instant when the rest of the world would fade away, his worries, his failures, his incapacity at leading his people through the upcoming winter. And Béma if he needed that release, so that he could collapse exhausted on the bed and try to catch a few hours of sleep, before his nightmares would mercilessly wake him up.

One night, after he had awoken in a puddle of sweat, Aefre had tried to ask him about it, had offered to listen to him. And he had pushed her out of the bed, waiting until she had been out of the room before standing up and starting the day even earlier than usual. Since then, whenever a nightmare had woken him up, she would simply lie still in the bed, allowing him to hold her while he tried to silent his whirling mind.

Since the burial of Théoden, even his relationship with his sister had inexorably deteriorated. Éowyn was over the moon at the prospect of her upcoming wedding. She was exchanging frequent and endless letters with Faramir, she had requested from him books about the Gondorian customs and etiquette and she was diligently reading them, while at the same time making plans over plans for the wedding ceremony and supervising the restoring of Meduseld to its original splendour.

Éomer was happy for her, he was truly convinced that Faramir would make her a good husband and he was glad for Éowyn's efforts in the Golden Hall. But despite all of this, he couldn't avoid finding her positive mood ever so aggravating.

She was aware of the current status of the Mark and she had more than once tried to help him, to offer her support, to convince him that he was doing his best given the current circumstances. She had tried to tell him that things would eventually improve within the next months. But in his mind, those _next months_ were an abstract concept. He could only think about the _now_. And _now_ was awfully bad.

Retrieving himself from his thoughts, Éomer looked at the members of his Council. A heavy silent was filling the room, his steps echoing as he walked to the door and opened it. There he stood still for a moment, before turning and adding in a low, growling tone: "I am not going to marry. Not any Gondorian lady, not any Rohirrim lady, most surely not Aefre. And I don't want to hear again of this topic until I will decide to bring it up myself. Is that clear, members of the Council?".

Éomer Éomundsson could be an intimidating man.

Yes, it was clear.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** thank you to those who have taken the time to follow/fav this story. And a big thanks to Candleinyourwindow and the guest users who have left a review! To answer one of them: yes, this is my first story. I wrote a lot when I was younger but never stories, and always in my mother tongue (Italian). Writing my first story in English in quite the challenge, but I'm enjoying it a lot and hopefully I will improve along the way.

Shortly about _To Grow Into Love_ : I have already written about 14 chapters for this story, but I'm planning it to be longer than that. For the moment, I will update twice a week, but I might need to slow down to once a week later on, depending on my muse and on how much time I will have available.

It is rated M for a reason and it will become clear once the story unfolds. I suppose some people might not like my Éomer, but I think life can drive to the brink even the most honourable of us, and things are not always necessarily black and white. Everybody can/will fall, what's important is to get back on our feet and to take the chance to learn and grow into better people.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _Minas Tirith, 25_ _th_ _October, 3019_

Seven days after he had entered Pelargir and traded at the Spouting Whale Inn, and two days after he had come back to Minas Tirith, Gamling was sitting in his room, looking over and over at the agreements signed so far, trying to estimate how many people that grain could feed, how long it would take before it would reach Rohan. And even more importantly: how much was still needed.

He had come back from Pelargir alone with his guards, for Lothíriel had decided to stay some days longer. While in the port city, he had barely seen her. She had spent her days with her cousin and her evenings dining every time with a different noble's family, apparently enjoying herself immensely.

A light knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. _Speaking of the devil_.

Lothíriel stood in front of him, already flawlessly dressed for whatever evening event she was planning to attend, flanked as usual by a couple of guards: "Good evening, Gamling! I have come to invite you for supper at my father's house. Worry not, for only my family will be there and I have good news to share!".

Gamling's grip on the knob immediately tightened and so many questions crowded his mind that it took him a moment to sort them out. Did she manage to come to an agreement with Lord Arondir? Would his people survive the winter? When did she come back? Could he finally ride back to Rohan?

Before he even managed to get a word out of his mouth, he heard her amused laugh and saw her turning on her heels, adding as she walked down the corridor: "I will give you the details later, Gamling. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon, for it has been a lovely day, has it not?". And with that she was gone.

Gamling stood still, gaping, mouth slightly open and an arm raised in the process of trying to stop her. _Damned girl!_

He had come to like the Princess during their ride to Pelargir. She was smart, single minded and had completely dedicated herself to the task of securing the food provisions for Rohan. She may have been no Shieldmaiden, but she was no hot-house Gondorian flower either. He knew she had been uncomfortable riding all the way to Pelargir at a relative good pace. However, she had never complained. At evening her guards would mount a small tent for her, giving her some extra comfort. But she had been always very easy mannered.

Though, he had a feeling that all of this was kind of a game for her. _Now, you are being unfair_. No, she knew it was no game and that people's lives were at stake. But he had the distinct impression that succeeding in her task against all odds, securing a deal where everybody else had failed and puffing her ego, was still a big part of the whole thing. He had seen her, strolling from one noble to the other, easily handling conversations as if she was way older than her 20 years of age, switching from a trade talk to an empty woman's chat in the blink of an eye. This was her natural habitat, and she clearly loved it.

* * *

Time seemed to slow down, and the hours dividing him from the dinner felt as long as days. When he finally entered Imrahil's house and took place at the table with the Amrothians, he felt quite on edge, even more given the general enthusiastic atmosphere.

Imrahil looked at him with a small frown, while some servants started to bring the dinner: "My friend, I have been very glad to hear that the provisions for Rohan have been timely secured. I would have thought the news to please you. Is something amiss?".

Gamling stared at the Prince. _Provisions secured? Timely? Dare I hope? No, no, better not to rush to conclusions._

"I am sorry Imrahil, I am afraid I don't understand…".

Imrahil narrowed his eyes: "I was under the impression that Lothíriel was to meet you earlier today. Did she not?".

"Yes, yes, she did. She passed by and asked me to join you for dinner, saying that she had good news, but she didn't say anything more, so…".

Imrahil sat back in his chair, clearly upset. His jaw was clenched and he pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath: "Please forgive my daughter, Gamling. She has returned from Pelargir early this morning. I haven't myself had a chance to meet her yet, she has simply sent me a short communication to inform me about this dinner, saying that she would have taken care of inviting you. I assumed that she would have had the good sense of immediately breaking the news to you, given its relevance, rather than leaving you brooding half a day. She can be rather…".

"Immature? Egocentric?", supplied Elphir, his wife nodding in approval.

Just then the door opened and Lothíriel hurried inside: "Who is immature and egocentric, brother? Ah, good evening, Gamling! I apologize for my delay, I have been…". As if suddenly taking in the tense atmosphere in the room, Lothíriel stopped in the middle of her sentence, looking first at her brothers and then at her father.

"Daughter, pray tell, what possessed you to keep Gamling wondering about what _good news_ you had for half a day, just so that you could triumphantly give the news to a broader audience? Oh, don't give me that look. Faramir came to see me earlier today and informed me".

One had to give her that she could recover quickly. From initial stupor, she narrowed her eyes at her father: "I thought Faramir was to ride straight to Osgilliath?".

"He had to change his plans at the last moment and stayed in the city instead".

"Not that it matters, anyway", commented Elphir, his wife nodding once more in approval. _Does she even listen to what is being told, or does she nod regardless of it?_

But by now, Gamling was actually only half following the discussion. For at this point, it was clear what the _good news_ were, and once the realization had started to sink in, all he could think of were the implications. _People will survive and I will be able to finally leave Gondor, Béma be praised!_

"Gamling, my friend, once again: please excuse my daughter. Lothíriel, kindly brief him on what happened".

* * *

Lothíriel looked up to Gamling. The poor man looked positively shocked. Father was probably right, she should have informed him earlier. And he was right that she had acted so, in order to be praised for her success. _I am not Gilraen, sitting by my husband, approving whatever crap he has just told. Is it that wrong of me, to be willing to achieve something on my own? To be my own, and not somebody's else puppy?_

"I am sorry, Gamling. It was inconsiderate of me to behave so. I will try to be short: when I met Faramir, back in Pelargir, he informed me about some tension between Lord Arondir and the Guild of the Fishermen, concerning their dock in the Quarter of the Faithful. You see, Lord Arondir's house shares a border with their dock and he seems rather interested in acquiring it for his own. The Guild was prone to close the deal, however Lord Arondir's offer has been ridiculously inappropriate, much alike to what has happened with you. Therefore, the Guild has refused. Since then, Lord Arondir has set his men on hindering the activities of the dock as much as possible without raising open malcontent. My guess is that he was hoping that they would soon give up and accept his offer. I don't know what lord Arondir's reasons are, and we can only assume that his resources are not as unlimited as we thought, and that he has decided to step into some further trading sector to remedy. Since it was clear that Lord Arondir was trying to accelerate things, we…helped it out, shall we say?"

"To the point, daughter".

"Right, sorry father. We made, that is, I, on behalf of Dol Amroth, a better offer to the Guild of the Fishermen. Needless to say, they gladly accepted it. With that, I visited Lord Arondir, who happened to arrive be in Pelargir shortly after you have left. I informed him of the deal and proposed to sell the dock back to him, at the same price it had been purchased, at the condition that he would accept your initial offer for the grain provision. It took a bit of yelling and barking on Lord Arondir's side, but after some bargaining he finally accepted. He will pay the full price of the dock to Dol Amroth, though not immediately, as I had to grant him some time for that, and he will be arriving in Minas Tirith tomorrow morning to sign the agreement with you".

Lothíriel finished her tale and saw a mix of emotions passing through Gamling's eyes. Astonishment. Surprise. Confusion. Gratefulness. Relief. Finally, he smiled at her: "My Lady, I have always thought you brilliant, but I have anyway clearly underestimated you!".

Lothíriel felt pleased beyond measure by his acknowledgment. _Ah, take that, Gilraen!_

Seeing how every single muscle on his face and his body seemed to gradually relax, how he sunk deeper in the chair, closing his eyes for a short instant, as if savouring the moment, Lothíriel regretted even more her childish behaviour. She gave him a broad smile and the atmosphere relaxed, as dinner proceeded on lighter topics.

When finally Gamling raised from his chair to retire for the night, she stood up with him, offering to walk him to the door. As they reached it, Lothíriel held more firmly on his arm, forcing him to turn and face her.

He looked at her quizzically and Lothíriel took a moment to study his face. He must have been in his late forties, maybe early fifties. Deep lines, witnesses of a life spent outdoor, crossed his cheeks and his forehead, probably making him look older than what he really was. He had been quite reserved with her at the beginning, but soon enough he had warmed up and Lothíriel had truly enjoyed the time they had spent together, riding to Pelargir.

"I am deeply sorry for today, Gamling. It was petty of me, I shouldn't have kept you waiting. I know how important this is for Rohan. Please, forgive my stupidity". Lothíriel bowed her head, feeling tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.

She heard a low rumble coming from Gamling and when one of his big hands landed on her shoulder, she raised her head. He was smiling. A small, gentle smile, like one of those her father would give her: "Speak no more of it, my Lady. And rest assured that I will inform Éomer King and the Council about how a young Princess from Dol Amroth has devoted herself to ensure the people of Rohan would make it through the winter, succeeding where I have failed, I might add".

She had been about to correct him, to tell him that he had not failed, when she realized that he wasn't pitying himself. Just stating the facts and acknowledging her contribution. Instinctively, she hugged him and then quickly released him.

"Thank you, Gamling!"

* * *

 _Edoras, 3_ _rd_ _November, 3019_

Upon signing the contract with a stiff Lord Arondir, Gamling had wasted no time. He had immediately taken off towards Edoras, glad of being able to personally inform the King about the deal.

Now, eight days later, he finally entered Rohan's capital, cheerfully riding through her North Gate. The city was bursting with activities and looked much overcrowded. He spotted several women and children hurrying around, carrying behind them what he could assume were their few possessions. _Refugees taking shelter in the city._

After having cared for his horse after the long ride, he moved in long strides up the stairs leading to Meduseld. He had assumed Éomer to be busy in the Council at this time, and indeed the hall was quite empty.

He crossed Birthwyn, the housekeeper of Meduseld since more than thirty years. The old woman looked relieved at him and offered a warm smile: "Ah, Gamling! We weren't expecting your party to be back already. I will have something prepared for you". He couldn't speak for his men, but he was indeed feeling rather hungry, even more at the prospect of a proper Rohirric meal after eight days on the road and many more on Gondorian food.

He took a seat at the long table in the middle of the Hall and shortly afterwards he was served a generous portion of chicken soup and some warm ham. _Ah, it's good to be back!_

Birthwyn herself brought him a mug of ale.

"How are things, Birthwyn? The city looks rather busy".

"Ah, yes. What with the food situation and winter upon us, Éomer King is trying to bring as many people as possible in Edoras, Aldburg and at the Hornburg. This way, it shall be easier to distribute food and provide shelter when the snow comes…".

"Seems reasonable. Worry not, Birthwyn, we will make it through the winter!".

"Aye, Gamling". The old housekeeper sighed and seemed downcast. Gamling had known her for a very long time. She could be a stern woman, but was also a reassuring presence in the Hall, welcoming guests and taking care of anybody who happened to be in Meduseld. He had only a vague memory of the woman who had held her role before her, for he had been just a young boy at the time.

"What's the matter, Birthwyn?".

The woman breathed deeply and took a seat next to him: "I am old enough to remember many harsh winters. We might face some losses, but I have never doubted that we would make it through the winter. Nay, we are far too stubborn people".

"Then what is it?".

Birthwyn looked at him straight in the eyes, before checking the surroundings. She leaned closer to him, as if willing to ensure that nobody else would hear her: "I am worried for the King. And I am not the only one. He works all day, eat in his study, barely sleeps. I wouldn't be surprised if next time he visits the stables, Firefoot won't even recognize him. Gamling, I have been the housekeeper of this Golden Hall for most of Théoden's reign. I know what a burden Kingship is. But Éomer is taking it all on himself, he thinks _he_ alone must be able to solve all our problems. He thinks of nothing else, he speaks of nothing else. He hasn't had a ride in weeks, he barely speaks to Éothain and even to Éowyn, save for state matters.".

Gamling listened attentively. He couldn't say he was surprised. Kingship had landed unexpectedly on Éomer and he knew how his liege had been struggling to adjust to the role, trying to do the right thing for everybody. Still, he was but a man.

Éomer had been a rider and a Marshal for many years, devoting himself completely to the defence of the Mark. But that had never meant that he had not found the time here and there to enjoy the company of his friends, of his cousin, of his sister, or of woman in general…

"Are him and Aefre still…?", asked Gamling.

Unexpectedly, Birthwyn snapped: "Aye. And if you ask me, that is only making things worse, for the both of them! Especially for Aefre, I'm afraid! She is a good girl and she understands what she is for him, but in her heart I'm sure she wishes for more. She clings to the hope that things will eventually change, that one day Éomer will wake up and see more in her".

Again, she looked around, checking that nobody had entered the Hall while they were speaking: "Weeks ago, I happened on her outside of Éomer's study while I was carrying him a tray with his lunch. Gamling, he had thrown her out, she was lying on the ground, holding her wrist. When she heard me, she quickly stood up, but I have seen the look on her face. I have tried to warn her, but she refuses to hear. That was the first and the last time I have seen her in Meduseld during the day. She sneaks in late at night and leaves at first light".

"Now, Birthwyn, I am sure you have misunderstood. Éomer would never lay a hand upon a woman, he is the most honourable man I have ever met…".

"That he is. But he has changed, Gamling. War has changed him, being King has changed him. I am worried for him! I remember when he and Éowyn arrived in Edoras after the death of Théodwyn. I saw him growing from an angry young boy to a great and noble warrior. Now, I don't recognize him anymore and I don't know what to do!".

Gamling stared pensively at Birthwyn. She wasn't somebody who would fret over nothing and her worries were starting to unsettle him: "Have you spoken with Éowyn?".

Éomer and Éowyn had always been close. Éomer had always been very protective of his younger sister and Gamling couldn't even start to imagine what a great courage Faramir must have needed when he had asked for her hand.

"Aye. She is worried, of course. She tries to support as much as she can, but she is also very busy with the planning of her wedding and preparing for her life in Gondor. I think Éomer doesn't want to burden her in such a happy time of her life. For she is, truly happy. So happy, that sometimes I wonder whether she has fully realized the situation. And she might leave sooner than expected".

"Sooner?", asked Gamling.

"Yes. Apparently Faramir is trying to help her getting acquainted with the Gondorian customs. They write each other and he has sent her some books, but she is fretting over it. That's why he has suggested that she could spend some time in Dol Amroth with the Prince's sister and daughter-in-law. Nothing has been set yet, but I expect her to spend the winter there".

Gamling processed the news and could not stop himself from thinking of Gilraen, Elphir's wife. _Ah, here is something I'd like to see! Lady Stubbornness and Slayer of the Witch King of Angmar, taking lessons from a woman whose voice I have never heard! Éowyn might be leaving soon, but she might also be back way sooner than expected!_ He could not prevent a chuckle to escape him and Birthwyn looked quizzically at him.

"I am sorry, Birthwyn, I was just thinking about Imrahil's daughter-in-law. I have met her in Minas Tirith and well…".

"Based on what Éowyn has told me, she has only accepted because of Imrahil's sister. They met after the war and Éowyn had been positively impressed by the Lady", provided Birthwyn.

"Yes, yes, Lady Irviniel. I met her once. I would imagine they would get along well, you are right". He smiled at Birthwyn and rested a hand on her shoulder: "Worry not, Birthwyn. I bring good news from Minas Tirith and I'm sure this will give Éomer some respite. Just give him some time to get acquainted to his new role and to get through this winter. I will keep an eye on him, that I promise you".

Birthwyn seemed to relax, ever so slightly. She slowly stood up but thought better of it, and before heading to the kitchen she looked down to him: "The war has left scars on all of us. Éomer's scars are invisible on the outside but run deep. And I fear they are only getting deeper by the day. Speak to him, Gamling". And with that, she left him.

Gamling quickly finished his food and his ale, brooding on Birthwyn's words. Was the situation really so grim? Maybe he shall simply interrupt the Council and give the news of the trading agreement without waiting. It might lighten Éomer's mood.

* * *

As the door cracked open, Éomer lifted his eyes. Whoever he might have been expecting, it wasn't Gamling.

"My Lords, please forgive the interruption. I have just arrived from Minas Tirith and have decided not to delay any further on bringing news. A trade agreement for the provision of grain has been signed with Lord Arondir. As we speak, the first carriages are already on their way to Rohan".

A collective sigh of relief went through the room. A couple of members of the Council who had been standing, looking over a map, fell heavily in their chairs.

He looked at Gamling, his eyebrows raised, thousands of questions in his head but at the same time already thinking about their next priorities. _We have no time to be relieved._ "Gamling, it is good to have you back, but pray tell us, what made Lord Arondir change his mind from his initial unreasonable request?".

Over the next half an hour, Gamling proceeded at explaining them what had happened in Minas Tirith and Pelargir. More than once he remarked the role that the Princess had had, how she had worked tirelessly on her task until she had managed to put her hands on a bargaining chip that Lord Arondir could not refuse. As he finished his tale, an approving and astonished murmur went through the Council.

But Éomer had more questions for Gamling and before his advisors could press on some other matter to be discussed, he closed their session and nodded to the man to stay in the room.

As the last member of the Council left the room, Éomer poured himself some water: "I have to say, Gamling, that when I read your letter about Imrahil's daughter and her involvement, I wasn't particularly positive. I see I was wrong. I suppose I have underestimated her long years of experience in trading for Dol Amroth".

Gamling's eyes widened and he looked at him incredulous: " _Long years?_ Éomer, I can't know for sure, but I would bet that _long years_ ago, the Lady Lothíriel was spending her time playing with dolls!".

Éomer looked at him, frowning: "Imrahil spoke of her role and I assumed she must have been his second or third born, to hold such a delicate position…".

"The Princess is twenty years old, Éomer. A remarkable young lady, if you ask me".

"I see. Well, I suppose I shall write Imrahil and his daughter to express my gratitude. It appears that a child Gondorian princess has managed to save us from starving during the winter".

In front of him, Gamling shifted nervously on his chair, clearly taken aback by his remark: "Lady Lothíriel is with no doubt a Gondorian Princess, but I wouldn't call her a child, _my King_. She might be naïve at times, but she is definitely not a child. I have seen her at work: she is determined and single minded, she has been a true ally while I was in Gondor. And she is with no doubt Imrahil's daughter, not just any other Gondorian woman".

Éomer looked at him, not expecting such a passionate reaction. _Have I struck a nerve?_

Not bothering to ask and not willing to discuss any further the topic, Éomer dismissed Gamling, already thinking about his next task. While the agreement was surely a good news, it only meant that enough food would be stationed in the cities. It did not necessarily mean that everybody would get access to it, for the situation in the Wold remained critical and they had done no progresses at all.

Éomer realized Gamling was still in the room and looked up at him: "Gamling, there are records I need to go through before tomorrow's Council, so unless you have some other important matter to discuss, I'd ask you to go and enjoy dinner with the others".

"Won't you join us, Éomer King? Come, even a King can afford a short respite from his duties!".

Éomer abruptly stood up, grabbed some papers and moved to the door: "I will be eating in my study. Goodnight, Gamling". Without further word, he headed down the corridor.

* * *

That night he worked even longer than usual and it was well past midnight when he finally retired to his bedchamber.

Upon entering, he immediately spotted Aefre. She was lying on the bed, completely naked, peacefully sleeping on her side, facing the door. An arm bended under her head and a serene expression on her face. Unconsciously, Éomer gritted his teeth and deliberately went loudly around the room, removing his clothes and making ready for bed.

Soon enough, Aefre awoke. She gave him a small, shy smile, looking at him through sleepy eyes. Slowly, she sat on the bed and moved to the edge, following his movements with her big blue eyes: "Your worked till late".

He nodded, while removing his shirt. He put it on a chair next to the desk and his eyes fell upon a detailed map of the Wold that he had forgotten there a few days ago. Just the sight of that map was enough to have him clenching his fists, feeling that familiar mix of anger and frustration rising inside him. _Even with a damn Gondorian child coming to our rescue, I won't be able to keep all my people from starving._

Aefre had moved next to him and she rested a hand on his upper back, leaning with her cheek on his shoulder. With the exception of the cracking of the fire, the room was completely silent and peaceful.

"I have heard that Gamling has been successful in Gondor. That's a good news".

 _Ah, many thanks for telling me, Aefre._

She moved the hand on his back in slow, circular motions: "It's still early enough to have the food distributed across the Mark, isn't it?".

 _Cursed woman, could she not simply shut up?_ He pressed his eyes closed, feeling the pulsing on his right temple increasing in intensity. The cursed headache rarely left him, these days.

"I am sure you will manage to make everything right, Éomer".

 _If the Mark had been given a coin for every time somebody has told me that much, Rohan would be the richest reign of all Middle Earth._ He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily, and pressed a thumb on the throbbing point at his temple, trying to sedate the pain. It always worked, even if just for a few seconds. Then the pounding, and the pain, would come back, as strong as ever.

"Are you unwell?", she asked, touching his cheek with the back of her hand in a tender caress.

As if she didn't know about his persistent headache, as if she didn't know about his cursed nightmares, as if she didn't know about his endless duties as King. _Are you unwell? What is that for a damn question!_

Without even fully knowing why, anger rose inside him and filled his veins. He grabbed the wrist of the hand which had been caressing him and turned to face her, looking hard into her eyes. Her full lips curved almost imperceptibly in a mischievous small smile: yes, she knew what they were.

Éomer turned her around and bent her over the desk, his hand holding tightly into her golden hair. Taken aback by the sharp movement she gasped, but did not oppose him. Instead, she spread her legs, lifting her bare bottom to him.

Oh, but he needed this!

With his other hand he reached to his breeches. He did not bother to push them down and instead simply freed his hardened manhood. He grabbed her hip, his other hand still pulling on her hair, forcing her back to arch. She moaned in anticipation and that image alone was enough to have his blood pumping madly through his veins.

He bended his knees, adjusting his position.

He felt her wet entrance and without waiting any longer, he thrusted completely and forcefully into her, his pelvis pressing against her buttocks. He heard her gasping loudly, but did not give her time to adjust. Instead, he started a furious rhythm, holding her hips in place, pulling each time almost out and then thrusting back inside of her, each stroke stronger than the previous one.

He turned to the mirror standing on their right. He didn't look at his face nor at her, he only focused on their joined pelvis, on her round bottom and on his manhood, sinking each time harder and deeper into her. It didn't take more than a few thrusts before he could feel his release coming, shooting through his whole body. But then, he rarely lasted any longer, these days.

He pulled out and spilled himself on her lower back, still holding to her hairs, groaning and rolling his head back. He doubted she had found any release but could not care less, and after the last wave of pleasure had rolled through his body, he released her.

Éomer got rid of his breeches, grabbed a towel and after having cleaned himself, he went straight to the bed, feeling exhausted beyond measure and falling quickly asleep. He didn't even hear her when she joined him on the mattress.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** as usual, thanks to all who took the time to read and follow/fav my story!

 _Candleinyourwindow:_ won't spoiler anything, but hopefully you will enjoy how events will twist in the next chapters…

 _Tibblets:_ thank you so much, it's encouraging to hear it from a native speaker! Despite having always worked in English, there is still a huge gap between writing a good report for my company and writing a good story. I suppose it doesn't help that I'm getting every day a bit slower in Italian as well, speaking it just occasionally. I'm glad to hear that you have been visiting Italy, and September is one of the best months to do so. I hope you have enjoyed your time there!

 _Katia0203_ : thank you! Next chapter will be up on Monday! ;)

 _ElvishKiwi:_ yes, I was expecting such feedback. And I perfectly understand and share your point of view. Probably this chapter hasn't helped either. But depression is one though, awful beast and all I can say is that there will be eventually redemption for Éomer and that is a big part of the story that will unfold from chapter 5 on. Hopefully that will turn things right!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _Minas Tirith, 3_ _rd_ _November, 3019_

After Gamling's departure, Lothíriel's days had started to feel oddly empty.

Elphir and his ever so lovely wife had luckily gone back to Dol Amroth. Her oldest brother was to rule the city while her father was kept busy by King Elessar in Minas Tirith.

Erchirion too was unfortunately in Dol Amroth. Now that the war was over and the Corsairs were no longer a constant threat along the coast, he had decided to take back his role, not really caring about all she had done in the past months. In fact, he had barely informed her.

With Amrothos helping father, she had considered going back to Dol Amroth as well, but had thought better of it. Elphir would be busy, Erchirion would be away most of the times, and she would find herself trapped with Gilraen. Lothíriel snorted at the thought of it: Alphros, her two years' old nephew, was a sweet boy and she loved him dearly, but the idea of being stuck, alone, with Gilraen, was simply too repulsive.

She had nothing against her, really, and over the last months she had proved to be a capable mistress for the house, a caring wife for her brother and a loving mother for Alphros. The problem was that she had as much personality as a mussel. _With no offence to mussels intended_.

Lothíriel understood all too well the necessity of keeping a polite façade when dealing with the Gondorian society. But even behind closed doors, Gilraen was no different. She seemed to have no opinions besides her husband's ones and she had never seen her having a real laugh, only that unnervingly polite giggle. Needless to say, she had never seen her angry and she had never heard her raising her voice. Not even when Alphros was throwing one of his tantrums she would lose her attitude.

The night air was cool and Lothíriel rested her elbows on the windowsill as her eyes roamed over the city below her. Only the occasional barking of a dog broke the silence and a tiny moon sickle shone a silver light on the white stone of the buildings. The sky was full of stars and Lothíriel stared pensively at them.

With the war well behind them, Minas Tirith had started to resume its tradition of hosting a number of different feasts and balls. Every evening, a different gathering would take place, may it be in Merethrond or at some noble's house. Lothíriel had always truly enjoyed these events and she had promptly purchased a number of new, beautiful gowns. Her wardrobe was now a colourful, silky dream and every evening she would sit in front of the mirror, while Andes worked her marvels on her hair.

Over the past few days, she had grown suspicious that her maid was seeing somebody. Not that there was anything strange about it, for girls of her age were normally already married in Gondor. However, when Lothíriel had tried to ask her, Andes had been very reserved. She hadn't denied it, but had refused to tell more. In the end, Lothíriel had decided not to press the matter, thinking that maybe her maid needed some time to feel more confident about this man.

A louder bark caught her attention and she looked down: a slim grey cat rushed across the narrow walkway and nimbly jumped on the top of a high fence, escaping the unwanted attentions of an enraged hound. The dog growled and stood on his back feet, but the cat barely gave him a glare and started to mockingly lick himself.

Lothíriel chuckled and sighed deeply: earlier that day, she had gained a shocked expression from Amrothos when she had informed him that she wouldn't have joined him at a dinner at Lord Duilin's house. Everybody in her family knew how much she liked those events and her brother had theatrically brought a hand on her forehead, as if checking whether she was feverish.

Truth was, that no matter how much fun she could have during those evenings, every morning she would have to brace herself for another empty, purposeless day: it was paradoxical how boredom could exhaust one to the bone, really. Her father had suggested her to become a lady-in-waiting to Queen Arwen, earning a snort in response. Lady-in-waiting. Seriously, sometimes she wondered if he knew her at all.

Earlier that day, trying to shake herself and find something to do, she had passed by the library. Faramir had been there and had reacted almost as theatrically as Amrothos when he had seen her. No, Lothíriel had never been a scholar or one for leisure's readings. She had read her good share of books, but either they had been imposed by her tutors, or she had picked them up for a very specific reason, normally connected to some of her duties.

But over the past days, she had often thought of all the stories Gamling had told her on the way to Pelargir, and so she had decided to look for a book on Rohan's history, thinking it might have been interesting.

It wasn't.

Reading about the history of the Mark did not compare to Gamling speaking about it in front of a campfire.

 _I wonder how things are faring in Rohan._ _By now, the first carriages with the provision of grain shall be well on their way and maybe Gamling and his King are already planning on their next move._

While riding to Pelargir, they had spoken in details about Rohan's resources, apart from horses, that is. She had been surprised when he had told her that the Mark had more than a few salt caves, for she hadn't even known that they existed. Salt was indispensable to preserve food and as such, it was a precious good to trade. According to Gamling, extracting salt from a cave was way more productive and efficient than extracting it from sea water, as they were doing in Dol Amroth. However, like many other things across Rohan, the caves had been abandoned during the last years, the infrastructure completely destroyed by the enemy. As such, it would take months, if not years, to have them fully operative again.

In addition to salt, the Mark had a good trade of furs as well, not to mention a decent one of a few metals, silver and copper among them. But like for the salt caves, it would take time before the mining could effectively start again. But once it did, Lothíriel was quite confident that Rohan could easily place its goods on the Gondorian market. And if it was true what Gamling had told her, about life being much more expensive in Gondor, then they would be able to make a good business out of it.

 _Would Gamling be upset, if I write him a letter to ask how things are going?_

* * *

 _Edoras, 9_ _th_ _November, 3019_

Back in Rohan, Gamling was starting to see where Birthwyn's worries were coming from.

Over the past week, he had tried to talk to Éomer, he had tried to have him joining them for dinner or for a ride, he had offered to keep him company in his study while eating, he had tried on multiple occasions to bring up all the good things that were going on in the Mark thanks to his efforts. To no avail.

If he had hoped that the success of his mission in Minas Tirith would have lifted his spirit, he had been sorely mistaken, for Éomer had promptly found new problems to aggravate himself, new troubles to be as grim as ever. True, the situation was still dire, especially in some regions of Rohan, but much was being done. While orcs continued with their sporadic raids, only two riders had been lost over the past weeks, and there had been no civilian losses. Which itself was a small, or rather a big, victory.

As Birthwyn had rightfully observed, Éomer's affair with Aefre was a destructive one for both of them, and especially for the girl. He had tried to tell Éomer, only to be shouted to make his own business and not to meddle in his private life. He had even sought out Aefre, with no better results. All she had told him was that he _did not understand_ and _me and Éomer are good_.

Hardly so.

More often than not, Gamling had joined the Council meeting. Now that the more fundamental food provisions had been secured, the latest struggle on the trading field concerned...well, everything, really. What did Rohan need to actively start the reconstruction of destroyed villages, in which amount, what could be offered back.

Things were made worse by the fact that during the last years of Théoden's reign, Gríma had ruled over these matters. Not much had been recorded, and even more had been lost. As such, they were aware of what goods the Mark was trading, but they did not know to whom those goods were sold, and re-mapping the trading network of Rohan from scratch was no easy task.

Because of this, it had to be expected that the moment a courier delivered him a letter with the seal of Dol Amroth, Gamling felt pleasantly surprised.

His suspects were confirmed once he opened the letter, for it was indeed from the Princess Lothíriel. She inquired about his welfare, about his trip back to Rohan, and she asked how it was going with the food distribution, whether all was proceeding smooth. _Ah!_

She wrote him that her older brothers had travelled back to Dol Amroth. Elphir to rule the city, Erchirion to resume his role in the trading business. Amrothos had been dispatched to a southern recognition task and she wrote him that she had decided to stay in Minas Tirith and was enjoying the city and its many celebrations.

Lothíriel had struck him from the very first moment to be a very active person. One of those who could hardly sit for too long in one place. While he had no doubt that she was enjoying the festivities, he had also the distinct feeling that she might be getting bored in the White City, now that her duties had suddenly dissolved.

The evening she had come back from Pelargir, when she had walked him to the door after the dinner with her family, he had seen her biting on her lip and trying to keep her posture while apologizing once more for what had happened. And while there was no deny that she had behaved immaturely, he had also started to see her reasons. In Gondor women were barely more than an ornament for their respective husbands, and it didn't take much to understand that such role would never be enough for somebody with her personality and her spirit. She hadn't acted like she did because she wanted to be praised. No, she had done it because she wanted to find a place, a role for herself.

Gamling didn't know anything about her mother and what type of woman she had been, but through her father Lothíriel had definitely inherited something of her aunt. He had glimpsed the same sense of irony, the same fresh intelligence, the same wish for independency, the same intolerance to the rigid Gondorian society. Maybe that was why Lady Irviniel had never married.

Gamling turned the paper in his hands over and over: he had already thought about it, but after having read Lothíriel's letter, he spent a whole afternoon brooding over the matter. Re-establishing Rohan's trading network would surely require him to travel back to Minas Tirith before the first snowfalls and there was no deny that Lothíriel would be the ideal partner to support him in his task.

But maybe there was more that she could do for them. Something that, in return, would hopefully help her as well.

That evening, Gamling had a quick supper before rushing to Éomer's study.

* * *

Éomer looked up from his desk as Gamling entered his study.

 _There comes the next piece of advice._

He liked the man, he was one of his closest friends and his most trusted advisor, but over the past days he had been a true thorn in the flesh. He frowned and Gamling must have guessed his thoughts, for he rushed to explain: "Peace, Éomer. I have only come to suggest a solution, or let's say a first step towards the solution, for our trading problem".

Éomer laid back in his chair stretching his spine, sore from too many hours, weeks, really, spent indoor. He pointed to the chair on the other side of his desk and waited for Gamling to explain himself.

"I will make it short. The Princess of Dol Amroth is the main reason we got the food we needed right on time and not one day too late. As I have already pointed out, she is young but accomplished and very reliable. She has also a deep knowledge of who can trade what across Gondor. I had already thought about seeking her Council once I am back in Minas Tirith. However, I don't believe I will be riding before a fortnight, as we are still working on identifying and prioritizing the goods we will need. That means, I won't be in minas Tirith for another 3 weeks at least".

"So?", Éomer prompted him, not really getting where this was going.

"The Princess is in the White City as we speak, and were we to write her today and give the message to one of our fastest couriers, she would receive the letter more than two weeks before my arrival. My point being: she could set up things, start talking to merchants and nobles, make inquiries. Of course I could stay in Minas Tirith to take care of this during the winter. But I won't be as efficient as the Princess, who knows how to move around much better than I do. Furthermore, during the winter, communications will difficult if not impossible for a few months. We won't be able to keep each other up to date, and as such closing deals might prove problematic".

Éomer stood from his chair and moved to the windows, pondering over Gamling's idea. He would have rather avoided sending the man for the third time in a few months to Gondor, but as it had become clear during the last days, they had to initiate these talks before winter. Coming spring, they needed to be ready to actively start the reconstruction of villages, to seed the fields and have their resources available as soon as possible.

He had also considered the possibility that Gamling could have been forced to stay in Minas Tirith for the winter, what with the short time that was left until the first snowfalls. And he had never doubted that once there the man would have sought out the Princess, for he had wasted no occasion to praise her efforts. But this was a big step forward.

What he was proposing, was to allow the Princess to start moving on their behalf. But on the other hand, Éomer was quite aware that the Lady had mostly autonomously handled the matter with Lord Arondir, and had done a damn good job at that.

No matter how much he disliked the idea of depending on this child Princess, he knew it was a sensitive plan: "Proceed, Gamling".

The man looked at him, taken aback, most probably expecting way more reticence on his side

* * *

Three weeks later, as Gamling was finally preparing for taking his leave and ride to Minas Tirith, a last missive from the Princess reached Edoras.

According to Gamling, in her first reply she had sounded enthusiastic about their proposal and had written that based on the few information they had provided her, she would have immediately started moving.

As soon as more detailed estimations had been made, Gamling had informed her in another letter. With that same courier, Éomer had also sent two letters himself. One to Imrahil, expressing his gratitude for the support of his daughter, and one to Aragorn, asking to formalize this temporary role of the Princess. Hopefully, this would have made it easier for her to move around and make inquiries on behalf of Rohan, while waiting for Gamling to close the deals. He hadn't expected another letter to come before Gamling's departure, but it did.

He waited for Gamling to go through it, expecting the man to quickly report on its content. Instead, he passed him the parchment, so that he could read it himself.

The Princess seemed in confidence with him and the style of her letter was quite informal. Even more so, considering she was a Gondorian lady. After quickly listing her progresses so far, she asked how they wanted the goods to be delivered. As she explained, before the war merchants would normally deliver directly at the buyer. Over the past years, however, with the roads getting more and more dangerous and the relationship between Gondor and Rohan deteriorating, the goods had normally been delivered to the border between the two realms, where a Rohirric escort would take them over.

Éomer knew what was the main reason for this: Gríma. As he had experienced on his own skin, the man hadn't wanted anybody to cross Rohan's plains without his knowledge. Just the thought of that slimy traitor was enough to have him gritting his teeth.

In the second part of her letter, the Princess explained that in principle both possibilities were open. However, for commercial and political reasons, she advised them to go the old way, at least whenever possible. It was a sensible suggestion: letting the merchants come to Rohan would be not only a further sign that things were going back to normal, but it would also be good for local businesses, such as inns, taverns, shops. Not to mention that at this stage, Rohan simply couldn't spare men to escort goods up and down the Great West Road.

But nothing could ever be so easy, of course. In fact, the Princess pointed out that even if they agreed on merchants travelling into Rohan, there were a few goods, wood among the others, that would require negotiations in Edoras. For such heavy cargos, the merchants were showing many doubts and were being sceptical about the conditions of the Great West Road. The Princess wrote that she expected them to request at least a partial escort upon entering Rohan, in order to share losses with the buyer in case the cargo was lost.

For such reasons, she warned them that while many agreements would be ready to be signed once Gamling had arrived in the city, many more (the most important ones, actually), would require further negotiations to take place directly in Edoras. _Joy! As if I don't have enough to fill my days!_

Already resigned to the idea, he put down the parchment. But before he could say anything, Gamling spoke: "Éomer, I know you won't like it, but I think we should ask the Princess Lothíriel to extend her support on this matter. Invite her to Rohan to assist in the negotiations. She knows how things work in Gondor, she knows how much a deal can be pushed, she knows how to best speak to these people. Was she to spend time in Edoras, she could also help us planning the resources we could trade in exchange".

No, the idea of having a pampered Princess running around Meduseld and adding to all his other concerns, was not to his liking: "I suppose she could come in spring, _if needed_ , when the merchants will make it to Rohan and agreements shall be officially signed. Shouldn't take too long if properly organized and she could travel back to Gondor with us for Éowyn's wedding", he conceded. _There, a diplomatic answer._

"No, Éomer. What I meant, is that she could spend the winter here. I have seen her at work. She knows how to move and I could help here finding her way in Rohan. Coming spring, we would be better organized and better aware of Rohan's strengths and leverages when it comes to trading with Gondor. If we do it on ourselves, coming spring we might find out that what we planned on exchanging isn't required in Gondor, or isn't as valuable as we thought. She could give us insights".

Éomer glared back at the older man, ready to burst from one moment to the other.

"Look, Éomer. She wouldn't expect you to entertain her. She would know why she is here, I would work with her. It will not be more work for you, only a better outcome. Sure you must see that!".

Trust Gamling to know how to put things in a way that had him cornered.

As much as he didn't like the idea of relying any further on the support of their southern allies and as much as he still did not fully trust the high opinion that Gamling seemed to have of this Princess, he knew it was a reasonable idea. Ensuring the food provisions had sucked dry Rohan's resources and it was therefore absolutely paramount to carefully plan their next moves.

The fact that he didn't like it one bit, was at this point inconsequential.

"Fine!", he snapped, half shouting. Regaining some composure, he added growling: "Explain the proposal to the Princess and be sure of doing it at the presence of her father and Aragorn. And ensure that she understands what will be waiting for her here…".

"A barbarian land, populated by barbarian people, led by a barbarian King? Come, Éomer, sure enough she is a Gondorian princess and might be a bit spoiled. But I have come to know her and to respect her. Give her more credit".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** thank you for keeping on reading and thank you _Candleinyourwindow_ and _villaspa_ for your reviews, I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far!

In the next chapter, we will all finally ride to Rohan, yey! I know it took me some time to get to this point, but I needed to properly introduce a few sub-plots and to characterize the personalities of Éomer and Lothíriel independently from each other. But now that we are there, the story can unfold!

Have a great start of the week, folks!


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

 _The Mering Stream, 17 December, 3019_

Three weeks after Gamling's departure towards Minas Tirith, an escort consisting of seven Rohirric riders and a Gondorian princess crossed the border between Gondor and Rohan.

Lothíriel sat astride her mare, looking around with excited curiosity. While she had travelled much in the past months, she had never been outside of Gondor's borders. Now, she would be spending more than three months in Rohan and, when weather allowed it and as part of her role as Ambassador, she would have the chance to visit more of the Mark than just Edoras. That thought alone was enough to boost her spirit.

Back in Minas Tirith, the afternoon Gamling had taken her aside and formulated his proposal that she might come to Edoras to help Rohan re-establishing the various trading relationships, she had felt past honoured. She knew she had done a good job with him and she knew that the man was aware of it. But after the way she had behaved on that fateful evening, she had half-expected that he would have limited interactions to the bare essentials. Instead, his letters had been friendly and he had seemed confident and at ease when he had spoken about her potential stay in Edoras, how they could have worked and travelled together, how he would have been constantly supporting and helping her finding her way.

Her opinion of Gamling had already been high, but after that day she had started to think that the man had maybe understood her and her motives better than the most. As such, it had been with great pride and gratitude that she had immediately accepted his proposition. Not to mention that over the past weeks, she had anyway had her fill of Gondorian feasts and, above all, of boring, endless, empty days. In Rohan, she would have again an official role, her days would be most likely filled with duties and her success and achievements could make the difference for the Rohirrim. Yes, that day her enthusiasm had definitely reached a record height.

Probably because of that, Gamling had gone to great lengths, _too_ long, really, to explain what would be awaiting for her in Edoras. He had stressed how life in the Mark was different, even more so during such hard times, how winters could be long and cold, how the King would be always busy. But she had been perfectly aware that this assignment would have been a drastic change and a big challenge for her and that had only made her motivation higher, her conviction more solid.

Not even Gamling's warning that it wouldn't have been possible to travel by carriage, what with the autumn's rains already soaking the country, had done anything to undermine her enthusiasm. Remembering how sore she had been from their three days' ride to Pelargir, Lothíriel had known that she would have had to brace herself for quite the nightmare travel. But she had simply shrugged her shoulders, reassuring Gamling that she would have coped with it.

But there was one who might have not been willing to take the road in such conditions: her maid. Andes wasn't a good rider and, in addition to that, she had thought the girl would not want to be separated for so long from her betrothed. Truth to be told, she hadn't actually said whether the man had asked for her hand or not, but the girl was so happy and clearly in love, that Lothíriel had assumed it to be only a matter of time.

When she had informed Andes about the trip to Rohan, she had predictably hesitated, saying she would have thought about it. But to her utter surprise, just one day after she had communicated her that yes, she would have liked very much to go with her. At her perplexity, Andes had justified herself saying that it would have anyway been only for a few months and that _he_ had told her such great things about the Rohirrim, that she had decided that she could not possibly pass on such opportunity. The only thing she had asked in return, had been the chance to write him some letters, whenever possible.

Lothíriel had been beyond happiness at the news. While she knew that she would have always been able to count on Gamling's support and blossoming friendship, it was good to know that a female friend was to be with her.

Upon crossing the Mering Stream and officially entering Rohan, Lothíriel turned in her saddle for a last look towards Gondor and Minas Tirith. _Well, not that there is much to see._

The sky was grey and a persistent drizzle had been following them for the past two days, limiting visibility and soaking them to their bones. Looking at her maid, Lothíriel could barely suppress a smile, musing that right now the poor girl was most probably regretting her bravery. If she had to be completely honest, she felt quite miserable herself: she was sore beyond measure, dirty, cold, wet and, at that very moment, hungry as well. And it would take another four days to reach Edoras.

Gamling had explained her that the devastation of the war had hit harder in the northern areas of Rohan and, in general, in more isolated regions. But even so, over the next days they spotted more than one ruined village and many burned cottages, not too far from the Great West Road itself. The weather had added to it, making them look spectral and gloomy and, above all, unsettlingly empty. Actually, they barely met people at all. And even though Gamling had told her that the reason was that most of the villages had been emptied and that their inhabitants were being hosted in the cities for the winter, still Lothíriel felt disconcerted.

During the last years of the war there had been many Corsairs' attacks along the coasts of Belfalas. In more than one occasion she had seen with her own eyes what the villages had looked like after their raids: a dreadful sight to be sure, but there had always been a lively component, people had never been far, already starting repairing and rebuilding. But here, this bleakness, this quiet, were staggering. If this was the situation in the least impacted areas, she couldn't even start to imagine what horrors must have taken place in the north.

* * *

Only upon finally approaching Edoras the drizzle, which had turned into a thick sleet over the last two days, granted them a much-welcomed break. However, much to Lothíriel's disappointment, in such grey weather and without even one ray of sun making it through the heavy clouds, the Golden Hall had not been the sight she had expected. Even the White Mountains, that she knew to be partially surrounding the city, were nothing but a blurry, undefined profile.

They entered the city through the North Gate and proceeded straight, crossing the old part of the town: most of the buildings were simple wooden cottages with thatched roofs and a steady smoke rising from their chimneys. Hadn't she known better, she would have thought this place to be a simple village, rather than the capital of Rohan and the seat of its King.

They urged their horses forward and only came to a halt when they reached the foot of the flight of stairs that she knew to be leading to Meduseld. Lothíriel pushed back the hood of her cloak and took a moment to look at the building: it appeared majestic and regal, but in a very different way, one she had never seen before. It might have lacked the grace of Merethrond and Dol Amroth but it stood no less proud, his wooden façade richly embellished by golden weaving patterns. At the top of the stairs, in the middle of the terrace, she spotted a tall blond man with an older woman by his side. _So here is the famed Éomer King._

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Gamling moving towards her. Over the past few days, he had taken to help her mounting and dismounting her mare and she had often joked that he had been afraid that she would have otherwise collapsed in a puddle of sludge. But this was the first impression she would give to Rohan and to its liege and so, as graceful as she could, she dismounted on her own. Her clothes were soaked wet, her boots covered in mud, her hair tangled in a way that she thought she might simply have to cut them. Her muscles were terribly sore and she found herself moving around as stiffly as ever. _Behold the mighty Gondorian Ambassador!_

Back in Minas Tirith, she would have been mortified by the idea of meeting the King in such dishevelled state, but if she had learned anything from her time with Gamling and his riders, was that Rohirrim didn't care too much about appearances. Plus, she doubted that Éomer King would be expecting anything different, given the conditions of their ride.

She was about to start ascending the stairs when Gamling came to her side, a suspicious look in his eyes. In more than one occasion she had perceived from him and his men some surprise, if not respect even, at the way she had coped with the ride from Minas Tirith. But that had not prevented him from some friendly teasing every now and then. And in fact, her suspicions were confirmed when he offered her his arm, a wide grin on his face: "Come, Princess. You are just a few steps and a King's greeting away from a hot bath, a warm meal and a real bed".

"Ah, Gamling, my hero! That's good to hear: another day in the rain and I would have started moulding! I don't even recall the last time I have been dry!". Gamling chuckled at her theatrical mimic and they both made way up the stairs and towards the terrace.

Lothíriel had never been so grateful that people of the Mark preferred bowing to curtsying. Given the soaked condition of her riding skirt and her stiffed muscles, making a curtsy would have been an epic disaster. Therefore, as gracefully as the situation allowed, she bowed to the King and then raised her eyes to his face to have a better look at the man, a friendly smile on her muddy face.

Granted, he had the presence of a King. It wasn't something having to do with his clothes, for he was dressed rather plainly, but he definitely had a royal aura. A pity that royalty wasn't the only thing that he seemed to be emanating in volumes. He appeared… _Sullen? Surly? Grumpy? All of them, I'd say. And more!_

The way Gamling had remarked over and over about how the King had been very busy and under pressure, hinting here and there that he hadn't been on his best mood since quite some time, made now much, much more sense. _Poor Gamling was probably afraid I'd gallop straight back to Gondor!_

"Lady Lothíriel, welcome to Rohan".

His voice was deep and intense and just as to prove her right, he didn't even give her the time to answer his greeting, turning instead to the old woman by his side: "Birthwyn, please show the Princess to her room and have a warm bath prepared for her, so that she might recover from the journey. Princess, I imagine you will be exhausted. Please, do not concern yourself. You shall take supper in your room and retire early".

 _Grumpy? How about aggravating? Arrogant? Insolent?_ _I have just arrived, I have yet to speak a word and he is already ordering me to lock myself in my room!_ _The nerve of the man!_

She had a half feeling that Gamling was about to say something to try to ease the atmosphere, but she spoke first, giving the King her sweetest smile and speaking in her most agreeable tone: "Thank you, Éomer King. Your _offer_ is most gracious".

She stressed the word _offer_ in a barely noticeable way but she was sure he caught it, for he immediately deepened his frown and seemed momentarily taken aback. Without giving him any time to think of something to say, she turned to the woman, Birthwyn: she was observing her and while she looked to be quite stern herself, she had a feeling she was rather evaluating her.

The housekeeper did not waste any more time and led the way inside the warm Hall and into dark corridors: "Please follow me, my Lady. We have prepared you a room in the western wing. It's very bright and offers a nice view of the White Mountains, when the weather allows it, that is. If you would rather have a bigger room, that can of course be arranged. However, please keep in mind that what you might lack in space here, you will gain in terms of warmth".

Birthwyn's command of Westron was good and she only had a light accent, very similar to Gamling's. As they entered her room, she threw her an assessing glance and waited for her to say something: "No, Birthwyn, this is perfect. I have only a few belongings with me and a bright, warm room in which I can comfortably work, surely has the priority over a big, cold one. Even better if I can get a glimpse of the White Mountains!".

The old woman nodded satisfied and Lothíriel gave the room a better look. Opposite of the door was a window, small just like the room but then, given the reputation of Rohan's winters, Lothíriel thought it sensitive. In front of it, slightly distanced, was a dark wooden desk and a chair. On the right side stood a cabinet, a couple of chests and a big fireplace, while on the left side lay the bed, covered in furs, pretty much like the floor. The room had nothing of the finesse of her chambers in Gondor, but felt warm and very cosy. And that would be more than enough for the next few months. Turning back to the housekeeper, she thanked her once more before pointing at her maid, who had been silently following them. The poor girl looked utterly exhausted: "Birthwyn, this is Andes, my handmaid".

Birthwyn gave the girl a quick look: "I will see that she is shown to her accommodation and provided with a bath as well. Your bath will be brought in shortly. I will have supper be served in your room when my Lady is ready".

 _Ah!_ "That won't be necessary, Birthwyn. A bath and a change into dry clothes is all I need. I will be happy to have supper in the Hall together with the others. If this is fine with you, that is".

It was the housekeeper's turn to look taken aback, but she quickly recovered and even though Lothíriel couldn't be sure, she thought she had seen the corners of her mouth twitching: "Of course, my Lady".

* * *

A few hours later, after a most needed bath and after she had almost fallen asleep in front of the fire while waiting for her hair to dry, Lothíriel dressed in a simple crimson gown and braided her hair.

Without wasting any more time, she stepped out of her room and walked down the corridor, trying to remember the way they had come from. She would have surely got lost but there was such a noise coming from the Hall that all she had to do, was trusting her ears.

The Great Hall of Meduseld was busy to say the least: everywhere people were hurrying around, appearing out of nowhere and disappearing into dark alleys, the doors being continuously opened and closed, allowing everytime a cold gust of wind inside. A long line of bedrolls lay along the perimeter walls but they did not look like they had been used yet, so Lothíriel assumed there must have been more refugees expected to come to Edoras within the next weeks.

Nobody payed her any attention and she took the chance to admire the inside of the Hall. It matched perfectly the outside, with a long line of wooden pillars leading to the dais where the throne stood. Behind it, big tapestries depicted what Lothíriel thought to be crucial moments of Rohan's history. She even recognized a few of them from Gamling's stories. Another couple of them she had a feeling she had read about in the book she had gotten from the library in Minas Tirith. But she had found it too boring to concentrate on its content.

Some maids crossed the Hall in quick steps, preparing the table where she assumed supper would be served. She limited herself to observing them, standing nearby a pillar and trying not to be in their way. When a shadow fell on her and a couple of servants bowed their head to her direction, she knew that the _Lord of Grumpiness_ was behind her.

Wearing her most nonchalant smile, she slowly turned and offered him a small bow. Needless to say, he was frowning at her: "Good evening, my Lord. I was taking the chance to admire from more up close the beauty of the Golden Hall while supper is being prepared. I hope you don't mind".

"There was no need for you to stress yourself to join supper in the Hall, my Lady. You could have stayed in your room".

Hadn't he been King, hadn't he been so ridiculously bigger than her, she might have thought about kicking him. But instead, her gentle smile never faltered: "It's no stress at all, my Lord. After a warm bath and a set of dry clothes, I assure you I feel quite ready to start my duties!".

The fact that her muscles were terribly sore and that she had long lost sensitivity of her bottom, was beyond the point.

* * *

A couple of young maids hurried around them, clearing some of the empty dishes and refilling the mugs of the commensals.

Éomer sat at the head of the table, eating in the Great Hall for the first time since what it felt like ages. _Well, months for sure._

It was a small gathering, consisting only of himself, Gamling, Éothain and his wife and the Princess. The group was cheerfully discussing something having to do with Éothain and the possibility that his wife, Heruwyn, would give birth to a baby girl instead of a boy and they all roared in laughter at some remark from the Princess.

Cleaned of all the mud, dried and freshly dressed, he could see that she was truly young. A _child Gondorian Princess indeed._

She seemed to share a solid friendship with Gamling, just as he had thought from the informal tone of their correspondence: they were continuously teasing each other and whenever there was something she hadn't fully understood or she wanted to know more about, she would lean to him and they would animatedly discuss until her curiosity had been satiated.

Despite Gamling's warnings, he had anyway expected her to be the typical Gondorian lady, spoiled and delicate. His thoughts had seemed to find confirmation in the stiffy way she had dismounted her horse, though she had tried to hide it. That was one of the reasons he had told her to retire to her room. Now, had he told something of the sort to Éowyn, she would have probably erupted in anger. Instead, the Princess had given him a gentle smile and had diligently followed Birthwyn inside Meduseld, even though there had been no mistaking at the jab she had thrown him. As such, it had been with no small amount of surprise that he had walked into her in the Hall, shortly before supper. Surprise and annoyance, for he had hoped to retire to his study and eat there, as usual, while working till late. Instead, at that point etiquette had demanded for him to join his Royal guest in the Hall for the meal.

The group laughed again and Éomer looked at them, shifting his eyes on each of their smiling faces, their bright eyes, as a deep sadness spread into him: not long ago, he had shared these moments with his men and his friends. Now, all he seemed capable of doing was sitting in a corner, brooding and frowning. He felt like any social skill he might have once possessed, had now completely deserted him. He looked down into his mug of ale: he hadn't even drunk the half of it and already he could feel the headache increasing in intensity. Resigned, he put it down and sighed: _sad and old,_ that's how he felt. And most of the time angry and frustrated. But in those rare moments when the anger would fade away, like now, only sadness and weariness ruled his body and his mind.

He lifted his eyes on the Princess, talking lively to Heruwyn. Save for her height, she looked a lot like her father and brothers: slender, dark hair, high cheekbones, eyes of the same grey colour of Aragorn's ones. She wasn't a beauty to behold, but she was pretty and moved around with grace and confidence. As Gamling had efficiently summarized it, she was indeed Imrahil's daughter. Her smile was friendly and she seemed easy mannered.

Earlier that afternoon, Gamling had informed him that she was determined to make good use of what time was left before the first snowfalls by visiting the Hornburg and some of the mines located at the foot of the White Mountains, not too far from the Helm's Deep. She hoped to get in that way a better overview of Rohan's resources, so that she would know how to move with the various merchants in the weeks to come.

It was a sensitive decision and his mind drifted back to the reports he had just received from Erkenbrand, still lying on his desk, waiting to be read. Excusing himself, he stood up and walked towards his study.

* * *

Dinner was being a joyous affair.

Lothíriel had taken an immediate like on Éothain and his wife, Heruwyn. She wasn't much older than herself, probably the same age as Andes. But where Andes and herself were just girls, Heruwyn was a woman, a wife, and a soon-to-be mom. She spoke Westron with a thick, heavy accent and was an endless source of hilarious anecdotes concerning Éothain and Gamling. Lothíriel suspected she had funny stories about the King as well, but had probably refrained from disclosing them. _Unsurprisingly._

The King.

He had been clearly surprised and disappointed when he had found her in the Hall. During the dinner, he had barely spoken a work, grunted a couple of times and most probably heard nothing of what they had said. He had just sat on his chair, staring blankly into his mug, brooding who knows over what. She had to admit that he was quite a sore sight.

Her father and brothers had always spoken highly of him, both as a man and as a leader. Erchirion and Amrothos had left intended that they had had a lot of fun together during the celebrations, indulging in food, drinks, dances and, knowing them, women. Maybe they had been too deep in their cups to clearly remember those nights, for she couldn't imagine this man having fun, let alone dance. _Really, just the idea is hilarious._

Shortly after they had finished their meal, the King stood up and excused himself, saying he needed to retire to his study to finish some work. She did not miss the glance Éothain threw him as he disappeared in the dark corridors, while Gamling gave her an apologetic look: "I am sorry, Lothíriel. Éomer King is worried with many state matters and…".

But Éothain interjected him: "He thinks him and him alone has to carry this burden, him and him alone is at fault for any bad thing happening in Rohan, him and him alone must find a solution to each and every of our problems, even the smallest ones. I tell you, somebody should knock some sense into that head of him!".

Lothíriel was taken aback by the vehemence in his tone but then she remembered that Gamling had told her that the King and Éothain were childhood friends. They had fought in the same Éored, Éomer had promoted him second-in-command when he had become Third Marshal and now Éothain was the Captain of the Royal Guard. The man must have known him very well.

"You mean to say that he hasn't always been so…so…". Now, she could hardly call their King _grumpy_ after only a few hours of acquaintance.

"Insufferable and intolerably grim?", suggested Éothain, gaining an elbow in his ribs from Heruwyn.

"As I was trying to say, Lothíriel, I am sorry. The King has a lot of worries. Please, do not take offence from his behaviour for none is intended. He is just being overtaxed in his new role, that is all", Gamling said, trying to smooth the tense atmosphere.

Éothain snorted loudly almost gaining another strike from his wife and Lothíriel hurried to reassure them: "No offence taken, be at peace. I can imagine sudden Kingship in the aftermath of a great war is no easy burden for anybody".

She gave them her earnest smile and luckily Heruwyn came to her support, moving the discussion to more pleasant topics so that the group was soon carelessly laughing again.

Éothain and Heruwyn retired not long afterwards, while Lothíriel and Gamling ended up staying up until late. Despite her physical tiredness, she found her mind awake and restless, already thinking ahead at the duties to come, at the priorities to be set, at the talks that needed to be initiated. They spoke at length about the plan of activities for the next days, until she realized that the Hall had gone completely silent and empty and they were the only people still up and around. The servants had long before cleared the table and retired for the night but at some point, she spotted a figure moving on the side of the Hall, partially hidden in the shadows. The person didn't come up to greet them, proceeding instead straight and only acknowledging Gamling with a slight nod of the head.

Upon walking nearby one of the big fires, Lothíriel saw it was a young woman, probably around her age.

Similarities ended there.

Where Lothíriel was short and slim, the woman was tall, perfectly and voluptuously built. Where Lothíriel had long, wavy, black hair, the woman had long, straight, blond hair. Where Lothíriel sported high cheekbones and clearly defined features, the woman's cheeks were full and her face had a lovely round shape. _Now that, is a beautiful woman_.

Lothíriel realized she was staring and quickly diverted her gaze, while the woman disappeared in the dark corridor.

When she looked up to Gamling, she had the impression that he was at unease, upset even, and thought it wiser to call it a night. Truth to be told, the tiredness of the long ride was finally catching up with her and she was feeling quite sleepy: "Well, Gamling, I have asked Andes to wake me up at first light. I suppose we shall meet at breakfast?".

Gamling nodded and quickly stood up to help her out of her chair: "Are you sure Andes will be up by then? She seemed rather…exhausted".

Even without looking at him, she could hear the smirk in his voice and she chuckled: "Between me and you, I think she is cursing the day she has accepted to come here. Actually, I don't think I will ask her to join us at the Hornburg, least she will never recover in time for our trip back to Minas Tirith in spring and she will be doomed to a life in the North!", she answered in a dramatic tone.

Their laughter filled the empty Hall as they walked towards their respective chambers and a much deserved rest.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** so we are finally in Edoras, hurray! For two people so unlike each other and at such different points of their lives, a rocky start was to be expected. I know their interaction was somewhat limited in this chapter, but things will soon change (whether for the best or the worst, remains to be seen).

 _Candleinyourwindow_ : hopefully the arrival in Rohan has lived up to expectations!

 _Silverswath_ : so glad to hear it!

 _Tibblets_ : thank you! For this specific story, I really wanted to fully characterize Éomer and Lothíriel before throwing them together, as I think it will benefit the plot in the chapters to come. It's actually one of the reasons why it took me four chapters to bring Lothíriel to Edoras.

Next chapter: Lothíriel joins the Council for the first time, with obviously inevitable consequences!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _Edoras, 22 December, 3019_

When the Council assembled for their morning session, Éomer had already been up for many hours.

The evening before, after having excused himself from dinner, he had worked till late. Somehow the merry atmosphere that the Princess seemed to have brought to Meduseld, had caused him to feel even worse than ever. It had been well past midnight when, feeling drained and downcast, he had finally made his way to the Royal Chamber. He had hoped Aefre would have been asleep by then, for he had felt himself like he had barely enough energy to make it to his bed. Instead, he had found her still awake, sitting in a chair by the stack. She had looked as beautiful as ever, the flickering light of the cracking fire bestowing her blond mane an almost reddish shade. Even if clad in a high neckline gown, there had been no mistaking to her buxom figure. But it hadn't matter, for he had been in no mood for that, in no mood for her. Staring at an undefined point on the wall, he had held the door open and taken a step aside, asking her to please go back home. At first, she had hesitated and he had thought she would have tried to convince him otherwise, but after a few short moments she had done as bid. Once in the corridor, she had turned to look at him, wishing him goodnight before vanishing in the dark aisle, without waiting for an answer that she knew would have never come. He had sighed in relief, closed and bolted the door, shredded his clothes off and heavily flopped on the bed, quickly falling in a troubled, useless sleep.

It seemed to Éomer that every morning he would wake up a little more tired than when he had gone to bed the evening before. That feeling of unbearable tiredness never left him, making him a little more wretched with any day that passed.

He raised his head, looking at the members of his Council filling the room and taking their seats, strutting around even more than usual. _Ah, yes, of course. Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Dol Amroth, is joining her first Council today. What a wonderful occasion fur such peacocks_.

After the last advisor had taken his place, Gamling stepped in with the Princess on his arm and, after a short official introduction, the session started. As expected, the Council was soon deep into discussions regarding the trade and he had to admit to himself that he was rather impressed by the Princess. It's not that he hadn't believed Gamling, it's just that it was hard to imagine such slip of a girl holding herself with such confidence on those matters. Granted, Gondorian ladies were normally sprouting self-confidence, but then their life rarely consisted of more than joining social events and gossiping around. Trading, negotiations, agreements, bargaining. This was a men's ground, one on which he himself felt greatly at discomfort. And yet, the girl seemed like moving around in her natural habitat, never shining away from pressing an advisor if she deemed it necessary. She was shouldered by Gamling, the two of them acting in perfect harmony, as if they had known each other for years and not for less than three months. _Well, maybe I can really delete "trading and negotiation of agreements" from my duties' list_.

Shortly before lunch, the Princess informed the Council of her wish to visit the Hornburg before the new year. His advisors agreed and he himself promptly approved the suggestion: "We will catch two birds with one stone, as I have also wanted to see myself the progresses made so far in the Westfold. Princess, be aware that we cannot afford delays, therefore we won't stall along the way and we will ride first thing tomorrow morning. It's a two days' ride to the Hornburg, we shall be back in Edoras shortly before Yule".

"Very well, my Lord. I will be ready tomorrow at first light".

"It's going to be a cold ride, with even colder overnights. Be sure of wearing your warmest clothes", he advised her. The last thing he wanted was to inform Imrahil that his precious daughter had frozen on the plains of Rohan.

A few of his advisors shifted nervously in their chairs, as if their exchange was making them feeling at unease. Éomer arched an eyebrow and when he turned to his left, he found Gamling openly staring at him

"Worry not, my Lord. I will not be a burden to your party. And while duty is the reason for this trip, I am sure I will enjoy seeing more of your beautiful country", the Princess said, tilting her head to one side and giving him a small smile that might have seemed sweet enough. Seemed. For he was quite sure that he had seen her jaw clenching and a few daggers flying to his direction, much alike to what had happened the day before on the terrace.

The atmosphere was clearly tense and a heavy silence fell upon them. Lord Fastred stood from his chair and coughed, as if trying to divert their attention: "Since you have mentioned Yule, my Lord…".

 _Béma have pity._ He had hoped that his Councillors would have had the good sense of letting the idea of a Yule's celebration falling without the need of bringing it up. With barely enough food to make it through the winter, they could hardly afford a feast. As much as it was regrettable, it was simply not feasible.

"There won't be any Yule's celebration, Lord Fastred. And that's my final word on the matter", he said, retorting to his most authoritative and intransigent tone and openly glaring at him. Indeed Lord Fastred hesitated, looking around the room for support, but none of the other advisors would meet his eyes. _Good, wise Council's members._

Just when he thought he had easily won the round, a voice rose. _Would Imrahil be offended if I send her back to Minas Tirith with our fastest horse?_

"Given the current food and refugees' situation, Edoras can hardly afford a lavish celebration", the Princess agreed, looking at Lord Fastred. _Right, maybe there won't be the need of offending Imrahil, after all._

But she wasn't done yet and Éomer almost chocked on the sip of water he had been taking: "However, I believe that a small feast would be advisable. I could speak to Birthwyn after we close this session, to see what could be realistically made available. Even if with limited amount of food and ale, musicians could still be hired, offering the citizens of Edoras a merry event and a promise of better times to come. In fact, my Lord, it is my strong belief that the people's moral would be positively affected".

 _On Firefoot. I will send her back on Firefoot himself. At full gallop, no breaks, she would be back in five days._

The whole room was taken by surprise by her confident stance and it took a moment for Lord Fastred to realize she was supporting his idea. When he did, he nodded eagerly at the Princess and a general murmur of approval crossed the room.

It was Éomer's turn to clench his jaw: "Princess, maybe I haven't been clear enough…".

But the damned girl did not even let him finish: "You have been _completely_ clear, Éomer King. And I _completely_ disagree with the notion of turning down Yule's celebrations. As a temporary member of this Council, an appointment I am mostly honoured of, it is my job to speak up my mind and provide, indeed, _council_ , whenever it is deemed helpful".

She was holding herself straight in the chair, her poise graceful and confident at once, her upper body slightly twisted to his direction, her hands resting serenely in her lap. On her right, Gamling was taking a big gulp of ale from his mug, successfully hiding his face: Éomer narrowed his eyes, not sure whether the man was hiding nervousness or a smirk. The other members of the Council looked positively shocked: during the first weeks of his kingship they had been subjected to many of his outbursts and had quickly learned when to leave matters be. But the Princess' resilience was feeding them courage and Lord Fastred held his ground, while consent seemed to spread across the room.

He was just about to unleash his temper when, once again, the voice of the Princess filled the room: "My Lord, it is not only the people in this room who are aware of the food's situation. I am sure your subjects would not expect a full-scale celebration. But even a small feast could be a good occasion to lift their spirits and increase their confidence. With your blessing, I will immediately seek out Birthwyn. And you have my word: was she to tell me that no food nor ale could be spared, I will back up your decision of calling off the celebrations".

For long moments, they stared at each other. The room fell silent and slowly all the eyes turned to him. When he heard Gamling inhaling, preparing to say something, he barely kept his eyes from rolling. Barely. _Of course they would back each other._

"Éomer King, I must agree with Lord Fastred and Princess Lothíriel. Our situation was none the better after the battle at the Helm's Deep, and yet didn't we host a celebration anyway? The people needed. We needed it. It's not different today". _Damn you, Gamling._

Éomer breathed deeply, feeling the headache building in his skull, the familiar pulsing increasing in intensity. He pressed his forefinger to his temple, momentarily closing his eyes. Were they right? Would have Théoden decided to host anyway a Yule's party? He remembered well enough the aftermath of the battle at the Helm's Deep. Well, at least up to a certain point, or better said: up to a certain barrel of ale. They had won the battle, that was true, but they had paid a heavy price and the weight of uncertain days to come had already been heavy on their shoulders. Any yet it had been a happy night, a celebration to honour the fallen ones and to remind everybody of what they were fighting for.

Still keeping the pressure on his temple, he slowly opened the eyes and sighed deeply: "Very well, then. _I_ will speak to Birthwyn and come up with a _final decision_ at our afternoon session". With that, he signalled the end of their morning session and clearly dismissed them. The room started to empty and there was no mistaking at the surprise on his advisors' faces: they hadn't probably expected such an opening on the matter from his side and as a result, he could already see them wrapped around the Princess' finger, just like Gamling. _Great._

Éomer had been a soldier for longer than he could remember. He had no knack for diplomacy and felt at loss when confronted with experienced politicians or, such as in this case, cursed Gondorian princesses. Whenever he was having difficulties, he would retort to intimidating the people in front of him, commanding them to do as bid. It worked marvels when leading an Éored into battle. It worked fine with most of the spineless members of his Council. It didn't work too good with nobility, especially the Gondorian one. It did not work _at all_ with the Princess. She was totally immune, totally unaffected. While speaking, not even once had she lost her flawless poise, her hands always peacefully relaxed in her lap. Meanwhile, his knuckles had gone white and his nails had almost dig a hole into his palms.

And now, he would be stuck with her on a two days' ride to the Hornburg. _And I thought life could not possibly get any worse._

* * *

Strolling down the corridor on Gamling's arm, Lothíriel quickly glanced over her shoulder: the advisors were trailing just a few steps behind them, seemingly very busy in a hushed conversation. There was no way she could make any sense of their whispered Rohirric words, but she caught more than one of them furtively looking at her. The corners of her mouth involuntarily twitched: earlier that morning, after she had been introduced to the Council and the discussion had started, she had felt the usual scepticism floating in the room. No matter where she was, no matter whom she was speaking to, the reaction was always the same, the unspoken question always lingering in the air: what is she doing here? What would a Gondorian Princess know about trading?

No matter how much she had already proven herself, men would always have the same first reaction when confronted with her role. But exactly because of this, she had cumulated an impressive amount of experience on how to handle the situation and, sure enough, coming noon their interactions had been nothing but constructive and fruitful.

The King's stance on the Yule's matter had not surprised her in the least. _I bet he is allergic to anything even remotely fun._

She had almost feared she had gone too far at opposing him in such blatant way on her very first day, but he had been deadly wrong about the whole thing. If there was one thing she had learned from her father, it was that a commander always cares for his troops' morale. That was why after any fight he would spend hours and hours walking through their encampments, talking with his men, taking the time to visit the injured ones and console the families of the fallen. Even during those rare peaceful moments, he had always kept a keen eye on his knights, ready to intercept and address any discontent. She was no commander, of course. But in the end, what was a commander if not the leader of his troops? And what was a King, if not the leader of his own subjects? No. A celebration, even if a small one, was in order. She could only hope that Birthwyn would agree and support the idea when the King would seek her out.

Upon entering the Great Hall, the group dispersed. Gamling offered to take a quick lunch together but she was actually rather busy and had to decline. As she had told Birthwyn the evening before, she had only brought a few belongings with her and she was rather sure that none of her gowns would suffice during the coldest weeks of Rohan's winter. Which meant that both herself and Andes were in dire need of proper garments.

"I'd love to, Gamling, but if we are to leave for the Hornburg tomorrow at first light, there are a couple of things I need to take care of. Speaking of which: do you know where I can find Heruwyn?".

"Ah, I see, women's matter! May I guess: is it about fancy gowns?".

If the comment had come from anybody else, more specifically the King, she would have taken it as an accuse of pettiness. But she knew better: "You almost got me, _my Lord_ , for it is a matter of _warm_ gowns. I am but a delicate southern flower ensuring my survival through the winter!", she said, holding a hand on her chest.

Gamling roared in laughter, getting some curious glances from the people around them: "After this morning's Council, I strongly doubt anybody would call you _delicate_!".

"Have I been too blunt, Gamling?". She was absolutely convinced of her motives, not so much about the wisdom of the act itself.

But he did not hesitate: "You have been as blunt as any of us should have been, Lothíriel. It would be wrong to deprive the people of Yule. And thinking about it: a small celebration will be even better, least we shock our precious Gondorian Ambassador!".

Lothíriel couldn't prevent a snort to escape her: "Hardly so. You have met my brothers, haven't you? Amrothos especially. I doubt anything would ever shock me!".

Gamling grinned back at her before steering her in the direction of the big doors of Meduseld: "Come, Lothíriel, I need to introduce you to somebody".

She arched an eyebrow but let him lead the way. They came to a stop in front of two riders, each clad in the typical Rohirric green cloak: "Princess Lothíriel, these are Herubrand and Walda. I have appointed them as your guards during the whole length of your stay in Rohan. Even if Edoras is quite safe, we cannot take risks. Herubrand and Walda will follow you on any of your errands and will, of course, be riding with us tomorrow".

She looked at the two men but could not say she was surprised. Actually, she had expected something of the sort and suspected this had been agreed between Gamling and her father. After all, even in Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith she would rarely move around without a couple of guards behind her.

Herubrand was the older of the two, probably in his early thirties. He was tall, even more so than the King, but lighter built. He had long dark-blond hair and a nasty scar across his left cheek, starting from the corner of his mouth and going all the way to his temple, barely missing the eye. He sported a thick, blond beard and, for somebody with such an imposing presence, his brown eyes were unexpectedly warm. Walda was younger, probably only a couple years older than herself and, pretty much like Herubrand, he was the typical Rohirric specimen. His beard was trimmed short and when he smiled and bowed to her, she saw two dimples forming on his cheeks. Well, if that woman she had seen in the Hall the night before had been the perfect example of a Rohirric striking beauty, this one here was her male counterpart.

"Well met, Herubrand, Walda. I am glad I can count on your protection during my stay in Rohan".

"Herubrand and Walda know Edoras very well, Lothíriel. They will be able to guide you wherever you wish".

"Excellent, Gamling. Then I shall grab my cloak so that they can hopefully show me the way to Éothain and Heruwyn's house?". The two men nodded in agreement and after a quick stop by her room, they headed out of Meduseld and into the busy streets.

* * *

As Herubrand and Walda showed the way, Lothíriel took the chance to have a better look at the city.

The weather was no better than when they had arrived and the atmosphere was still grey. However, it looked livelier today, maybe because of the many children running around. She smiled at a young boy staring at her with wide eyes, but that only had him blushing and hurrying back inside the house.

"It's because of your hair, my Lady", Herubrand explained, chuckling at the hastening retreat of the boy.

"Yes, I suppose I must look pretty strange".

"No, my Lady, just _very_ exotic", Walda said, shaking his head and giving her a charming smile. _Those dimples! Such fine-looking man shall not be entitled to have dimples!_

Luckily it didn't take long before they reached Éothain's cottage. Located on a side street not far from the main road, it was a bit bigger than most of the other buildings around and before she could even knock, the door opened: "My Lady, what a pleasure! How do you fare?". Heruwyn looked enthusiastic about her visit and she was glad for it.

"I am faring good, Heruwyn. How are you and the baby?". Éothain's wife was nearing the end of the seventh moth of her pregnancy and her rounded belly was most probably starting to make it difficult for her to move around, though she did not seem to care too much about it.

"Ah, she has barely let me sleep. She had been restless for the whole night!".

"Still convinced it's going to be a baby girl?".

Behind her, Herubrand snorted: "I'd love to see that. A small she- Éothain…she would be the dead of him!".

They all roared in laughter and Heruwyn confirmed his impression: "You will see, Herubrand, you will see. She will have the fierce Captain Éothain eating out of her hand from the very first moment, mark my words!".

Lothíriel giggled but looking at the woman's distended stomach, she thought it wiser to bring Heruwyn inside the cottage: "Heruwyn, I have come to seek your advice, but I won't have you standing outside in the cold. May I impose for just a few minutes? I can come back later, if you are busy".

She couldn't, really, as she would be busy for another Council meeting for the whole afternoon. But luckily Heruwyn immediately signalled to come inside: "Of course, my Lady, I would be honoured! Can I offer you something? Have you had lunch, already?".

Herubrand and Walda stayed outside, one on each side of the door, as Lothíriel stepped in and followed Heruwyn, taking a seat at the table in front of the fireplace. The cottage was nicely warm and a delicious smell filled the air: thinking about it, she felt rather hungry and her stomach decided to confirm it with a low growl. It was good enough as an answer and Heruwyn joined her at the table carrying two bowls of a steaming chicken soup. Lothíriel wasted no time to take a first spoon: she didn't know if it was the cold air that was making her feel so ravenous, but it tasted divine.

"Why, Heruwyn, this is delicious! Thank you!". She took another big spoon before explaining the reason for her visit: Heruwyn nodded at her and not only she told her where to find the best seamstress of all Edoras, but she offered to go with her.

* * *

The sky had long turned dark when Éomer put down the quill and sunk deeper into the chair in his study.

Earlier that day, he had sought out Birthwyn to inquire about what Meduseld could realistically afford for a Yule's celebration. Honestly speaking, he hadn't known what to hope, but the housekeeper had looked immensely relieved and had told him that she had been worried that any celebration would have been called off this year. She had already given the matter some consideration and had provided him with a precise answer to any of his questions. And in the end, he had to admit that he had felt glad when she had told him that yes, a small celebration could indeed be organized. Granted, it was not to going to be grand or abundant, but people would be able to fill their bellies and, most importantly, their spirits.

Yule had always been such a joyful occasion.

He remembered spending it in Aldburg when his parents had been still alive and Éowyn just a small girl. He remembered escaping his mother and her maids when she had decided that it was time for children to retire, only to be miserably caught each time by his father. He would lift him on his shoulder as if he was a sack of grain and deliver him to his room, explaining patiently that he was too young to stay up until late.

After their parents had died and they had moved to Edoras, he had hated his first Yule there. He had been still full on anger for his parents' death and had refused to show up for the celebrations. Instead, he had spent the whole evening in his room with Éowyn, playing with her and telling her stories, cursing in his head the sound of the merriment coming from the Hall.

In the years to follow, he had started again to join the festivities, under the protective wing of his cousin. It had been during a Yule that he had got to kiss a girl, a maid, for the first time, when he had been fourteen years of age. With poor results, one might add. And it had been during a Yule that he had gotten completely drunk for the first time, when he had been sixteen years of age.

Not much time later, Théodred had brought him to a tavern of dubious reputation located at the very end of the Riddermarket. Pretty much like his first kiss, the first time he had lain with a woman his performance had been quite lacking. After that, his Yule's memories became blurry. He only knew that he had indulged in much alcohol, laughed until having his jaw aching and never lacked women.

Upon becoming Third Marshal, he had taken again to celebrate Yule in Aldburg. It had felt strange, as if from one moment to the other he would have been able to spot himself as a child, hiding behind a pillar, laughing and running mischievously around. It had been a bitter Yule and he was glad he would now be spending it again in Edoras. The Great Hall of Meduseld had its fair share of ghosts, but nowhere near the ones of Aldburg.

It would be good to celebrate, he knew that. But at the same time the thought of the celebration, the thought of sitting in the Hall with all his people, giving a cheering speech, sharing the meal with them, toasting with them, talking and joking with them, joining the dances, had him grimacing.

Unsurprisingly, he felt the throbbing on his temple worsening and decided to retire for the night.

He pushed the doors to his bed chamber open: like the evening before, Aefre was still awake and sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace. He acknowledged her with a slight nod and started to take off his clothes. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her doing the same, a small smile on her lips. Once naked, he heavily fell upon the bed and lay down, his arms crossed behind his head, following her movements with his eyes. _Béma but she is gorgeous._

He immediately felt a stir in his groin and stared blatantly at her generous breasts as she seductively walked towards the bed. Without any hesitation, she straddled him and started a passionate kiss, nibbling and sucking at his lips. He could feel her wet womanhood rubbing against him and he groaned at the sensation. But then her lips left his mouth, lazily trailing along his jaw before moving down to his neck, to his chest, to his nipples. With every kiss, she would excruciatingly move a little lower, making him shake in anticipation. He closed his eyes, longing for the moment her mouth would find him. And when it did, he couldn't prevent a louder groan to escape his lips, his head rolling back into the pillow.

Not much later, as the last wave of pleasure faded away, Éomer kept still on his big bed, trying with all he had to cling to that peaceful silence in his head, whishing for it to last a little longer. But inexorably, awareness flowed back through his body like a swollen, angry river, carrying with it all sort of worries, all sort of pains. The moment he felt the familiar pulsing on his temple slowly starting to build up again, he knew his short-lived ease was definitely over.

Frustrated, he snapped up from the bed but the fast movement only made the whole thing an order of magnitude worse. Cursing under his breath, he reached the basin on his desk and splashed some cold water on his face, feeling momentarily relieved. He took a couple of deep breaths and keeping a hand pressed on the side of his skull, he half-walked half-staggered back to the bed.

 _Béma but I'm old_.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** kind of transition chapter, I know. When I re-read it, I wasn't very satisfied with it and thought about re-writing it from scratch. In the end, I decided to keep it and maybe later on I will think about how to improve it. As I said, this is my very first story so I hope you will forgive if it's a bit tentative at times. The story will start approaching its first turn of events from the next two chapters and hopefully that will help.

Thank you for the positive feedback and for taking the time to drop me a line or two, may it be via PM or review, it means a lot for me! _Solar1,_ I am glad you are finding the story original so far and _Candleinyourwindow,_ yes, I think 'party-pooper' fits rather well to Lothíriel's thoughts in this chapter! I suppose rank is the only thing that is keeping them from throttling each other! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 _Edoras, 23_ _rd_ _December, 3019_

Coming morning, Éomer found Aefre already gone and sighed in relief.

Sometimes he wondered what was keeping her visiting his room at night. He doubted it was pleasure, for saying that he hasn't been living up to his reputation was a wide understatement. Last night, he hadn't even expected her to be in his room, not after he had asked her out on the evening before. But she had been there and he was glad for it. He just preferred avoiding looking at her in daylight: as ridiculous as it was, it seemed to him as if in the cover of darkness, he could pretend he was not using her, he was not being selfish, whereas at day the pretence would surely crumble down. _She should find a good man for herself instead of wasting her time on the like of me._

He was sincere, he truly wished for her to settle down with somebody who would deserve her, somebody who clearly wasn't him. And yet, he knew he would still egoistically welcome her to his bed for as long as she would have wanted to, so that he could pursue a blissful instant for himself, so that he could hold her when his nightmares would ruthlessly haunt him. So that he could momentarily forget how this whole situation with her had turned into the umpteenth torment for his tired mind.

He narrowed his eyes as he entered the Great Hall: a bright light was flooding inside Meduseld from the opened door and he realized the Princess was standing there, halfway-in and halfway-out, cheerfully speaking to her guards. _Joy, the list of people wrapped around her finger grows by the day._

Gamling was sitting at the table, finishing his breakfast and Éomer took a seat next to him, quickly grabbing some cheese and bread.

"The weather is cold but clear. It's going to be a nice ride to the Hornburg", Gamling commented casually.

He nodded. _Has it been really more than two months since the last time I have been out for a ride?_ Yes, it had. He had visited Firefoot from time to time, but not nearly as much as he would have liked. His stallion had been as bad tempered as ever, rightfully taking offence at being neglected so and the stable master had complained that he had been a devil, terrorizing each and every of the poor stable boys.

Éomer tried to remember: had he ever been for so long out of his saddle? No, at least not since his father had gifted him his first pony. He had been four years old at the time and ever since, his whole life had revolved around horses: he had ridden for fun together with his friends, he had ridden alone to calm his nerves, he had ridden to war to protect his beloved country. How ironic that becoming the King of the Horselords, had seemed to come with an immediate removal of horses from his everyday's life.

"Good morning, Éomer King! It is a fine morning, isn't it?".

Lost in his thoughts, Éomer hadn't even noticed the Princess approaching him. She seemed to be over the moon and when he heard a chuckle coming from his side, he turned to Gamling: "She woke up and as soon as she has realized that the White Mountains were finally visible and capped with fresh snow, peace was over in Meduseld. Can you believe it, she actually ate her breakfast sitting outside on the terrace! Imagine what will happen the day it will snow in Edoras. We shall plan to take cover somewhere, I tell you".

He turned back to the Princess and saw her blushing deeply: "Gamling!", she shrieked, earning a louder laughter from the man. She was clearly trying to regain her composure and get rid of the blush on her cheeks, fidgeting nervously with her fingers and looking at the ground. _She is not always flawlessly poised, then._

She raised her grey eyes on him and he noticed that she was holding some papers: "Éomer King, I meant to ask you whether any courier is set to leave to Minas Tirith while we are away. If so, I'd like to give him some letters for my family".

He nodded and signalled to pass over the correspondence: he would add it to the pile of other letters already awaiting in his study.

"Thank you, my Lord!". With that, she turned and hurried back outside, an excited smile plastered on her face.

"You can speak to her, you know? I tried and she doesn't bite", Gamling commented dryly.

"I have spoken to her".

"Yes. When we arrived, commanding her to eat in her room. And in the Council, about state matters, often trying to bite her head off. I see you are working hard on making quite the impression, aren't you?".

 _Béma, why can't they ever let go?_ "Gamling, in case you haven't noticed…".

But the older man snapped and cut him short, already standing up from his chair: "Yes, yes, the endless problems of the Mark. We all know and we are all doing our best. That doesn't prevent us from behaving like decent human beings. I shall check on my horse. I'll meet you outside, _my King_ ".

There was no mistake in the way he had emphasized those two last words. He and Gamling had known each other since many years and, with the exception of official gatherings, he had always been simply _Éomer_ to him.

He nibbled lazily at a piece of dried meat and sighed: he knew he had been harsh on the Princess, from the very beginning. She had been there for only a day and a half and while she might have definitely been a bit presumptuous in the Council, she had otherwise given no reasons to be treated so. But then, he pondered, it's not as if he had been any friendlier to the rest of them. He simply had too many thoughts burdening his mind, a too strong headache most of the times and way too many nights of short and troubled sleep.

He gingerly finished his breakfast and, after having issued some last instructions to Birthwyn, he finally stepped outside. Gamling hadn't been joking. _A fine morning indeed._ At first the brightness of the day seemed to increase the pounding in his head, but as he gradually made his way in long strides towards the Royal Stables, breathing deeply in the cool morning air, he started to feel slowly better. _Ah well, maybe this ride won't be a total catastrophe._

Upon coming in sight of the sturdy building he was greeted by Éobold, the stable master: in a normal situation, the old man would have probably ensured to have Firefoot already saddled and ready for him. But as the last weeks had largely proven, his stallion was way too restless to let anybody else approaching him. And to be honest, he was glad for it: he patted the strong neck of his trustful friend and murmured some Rohirric nonsense while he passed him an apple. Methodically, almost as if the whole procedure was part of a sacred and ancient ritual, he started saddling him. It had been his father who had taught him how to do it and since then, he had done it so many times that the exact sequence of actions came almost as an instinct to him, relieving his mind and relaxing his nerves.

When he finally walked Firefoot outside of the stables, he found his Royal Guard already mounted and waiting for him. He was about to acknowledge Éothain with a quick nod when he thought better of it and decided to put an effort at behaving more _decently_ : "Good morning, Éothain".

"Good morning, Éomer".

He looked around and realized that Gamling, the Princess and her guards were nowhere in sight: "Aren't we missing a few people?".

Éothain nodded and his chuckle was promptly followed by a similar one from the rest of his guards: "Aye, they are waiting outside the gates". Éomer's eyebrows lifted and he looked at his friend quizzically.

"The Princess' mare is lovely to be sure, but unused to long rides and cold weather. Gamling has deemed it better for her to get another horse, a Rohirric one, that is. Well…let's just say that this has added to her morning's excitement about the snowy mountains and that she has firmly stated that she needed to get better acquainted with her new mount. She didn't leave them much choice but to follow her outside of the city".

More guards giggled and Éomer considered that Gamling had probably been right. He had only given a quick glance to the Princess' mare when she had arrived: she was a small but beautiful, elegant horse. He wouldn't have expected anything different from Imrahil's daughter but truth to be told, she had seemed rather worn out upon arriving in Edoras. Providing the Princess with a replacement for the ride to the Hornburg had been a wise choice: "Who has she been given?".

"Sparkler, my Lord", Éobold answered.

He nodded approvingly: Sparkler had excellent features but a sweet temperament and the Princess would be able to handle him without any problem. Satisfied, he signalled to his Guard and the group started to move towards the North Gate. Once outside the walls of the city, he spotted Gamling, the Princess, Herubrand and Walda, waiting for them at the cross of the Dunharrow Road with the North Road, not fifty yards from the Gate itself. The Princess was looking over the plains and Gamling was leaning towards her, presumably trying to satisfy her endless curiosity. They turned as they heard them approaching and silently followed them, heading west.

The Princess seemed at ease on her new mount and was flanked by Gamling most of the time. He had been afraid that he would have had to tolerate a continuous chatting between the two of them, but instead they soon fell silent. When he twisted in his saddle and threw her a glance over his shoulder, he saw her looking attentively at the landscape around them, as if she was trying to catch even the smallest detail of their surroundings. Occasionally, she would turn to Gamling to ask something and, once satisfied, she would resume the sightseeing.

Éomer noticed that luckily, she was properly dressed for the cold ride. Actually, now that he looked at her, he realized that her riding outfit was clearly a Rohirric one and clearly not a new one. He briefly wondered where she had got it from but soon enough his attention was back on the road in front of them. _Béma but is good to be out._ Even if his mind was still as troubled as ever, riding Firefoot across the plains of Rohan was making him feel so much lighter, even soothing his headache. It was almost completely gone, really, and he briefly closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation.

When he had been younger, he had barely known the meaning of the word _headache_. He had only been very well acquainted with the hangover version of it. But ever since coming back to Edoras after the end of the war, it had been a constant companion. He would wake up with it and fall asleep with it. He had tried some herbal remedies that the healers had given him, to no avail. During the course of the day, it would always get worse, making him overly sensitive to loud noises, bright lights and fast movements, like suddenly standing up. Now, sitting atop Firefoot and breathing deeply in the fresh morning air, he wondered if the sticky, heavy air of the Council room and his study wasn't a factor as well. _I shall ask Birthwyn to refresh the rooms more often. Who knows, might even keep my advisors from bothering me every day, if they would run in the risk of freezing on the spot._

He chuckled at the picture of his proud Councillors with a frozen snot hanging from their nose. _It would serve them right_.

* * *

If the ride to Edoras had made Lothíriel feeling miserable, not to mention wet and cold, the ride to the Hornburg was making her feel overly excited. She knew she must have looked like a child to the eyes of these seasoned warriors, but couldn't help. The landscape was simply majestic, so different from what she was used to. On the one side, the White Mountains: true to their name, their peaks were capped with white snow. On the other side, an endless expanse of green grass. Atop her beautiful Rohirric mount, she couldn't but enjoy the day.

The horse had been a surprise. She hadn't given much thought about it, but she had to agree with Gamling that her mare could probably use some more days of rest in the warm stables. Sparkler was a beautiful chestnut, with a mane in the same brown-reddish colour as his coat. He was much bigger than her mare, but not quite close to the huge stallions of the other riders, let alone the King's one. Gamling had assured her that he had a docile temperament and indeed, she already felt in perfect harmony with him.

Everything was so good, she didn't even care about the freezing air. But she had to admit that Heruwyn was to be thanked there: when she had told her about the ride to the Hornburg, she had insisted that she needed a proper riding outfit. But since there hadn't been enough time for the seamstress to have a new one made for her, Heruwyn had decided that she should have taken one of her own. The seamstress had only needed a few adjustments to have it fitting her and while it was surely nothing fancy, it was practical and, most important of all, warm.

"You seem to be enjoying the day, my Lady", Éothain said.

"I am, Éothain! And I must thank your wife for it. Her outfit is making the cold negligible!".

The Captain nodded: "I anyway doubt it would ever fit her again after the pregnancy".

The whole group burst out laughing and Lothíriel lightly punched him on the shoulder: "Éothain, you are on orc! How can you say that!", but her comment only achieved to make their laughter even louder.

"At least your wife has a valid excuse for putting on weight. Pray tell, what would yours be?".

Lothíriel stopped and stared with wide eyes at the back of the King, riding a few feet in front of her. _Did he really tell it? Did the King of Grumpiness just make a joke? Does he even know humour? Valar, be praised!_

However, Éothain did not miss a beat: "I am merely being supportive, so that Heruwyn won't feel bad about gaining some weight. That's called marriage!", which in turn earned him a snort from the King.

The light banter seemed to ease the overall mood and the rest of the ride proceeded in a merry, relaxed atmosphere. The sun had just set when they eventually stopped for the night on a clearing in front of a small group of trees, on some gentle-rolling hills at the root of the White Mountains. Lothíriel offered to give some help but whoever she asked, she was met a shaking head. But then, looking at the riders efficiently moving around, she concluded that her help would have been more of a nuisance than anything else. Everybody seemed to have a clearly defined role, from mounting the tents to starting the fire, from tending to the horses to preparing supper. The whole camp was like a living organism, perfectly adapted to the surrounding environment and efficiently able to take care of its needs.

Lothíriel gladly accepted a bowl of stew as she took place around the campfire, together with the rest of the group: well, the soup couldn't hold a candle to Heruwyn's one, but it was good enough and, above all, warm. Sitting between Gamling and Walda, she looked across the fire to the King: her first impression of him had been quite negative. He had approached her assuming her to be just another delicate Gondorian lady, basically ordering her to her room. Later on, he had been upset by her "disobedience" and hadn't spoken a single word throughout the whole dinner, saved for when he had excused himself. During the Council meeting, he had spent half of the time glaring at her. Then, he had basically disappeared until that morning, when he hadn't even bothered to answer her greeting, limiting himself to grunting and grabbing her correspondence.

The day before, during the Council, there had been more than one clash between him and his advisors. But in the end, while he had firmly held his ground on many topics, he had also accepted their advises and changed his mind whenever he had understood it to be for the better. Sure enough, by the end of the day he had only taken wise decisions. At least to her modest opinion. And this confirmed what her father and King Elessar had told her about him.

But still, his continuous brooding, his permanently sullen and gloomy mood, made him insufferable. His behaviour wasn't helping anybody and at first, she had assumed this was simply the way he was. But recalling the way her father and brothers had talked about him, thinking of the few hints that she had caught here and there from Gamling and especially after having observed him during the ride, she was slowly convincing herself that he wasn't really like that.

She didn't know much about him. Only that he had been raised by his uncle, together with his sister, after presumably having lost their parents at a young age. And that he had unexpectedly become King after the premature demise of his cousin and the death of Théoden King on the Pelennor Fields. Such kingship would be a burden for anybody, of that she was sure. War alone was a heavy burden and she had seen it on her brothers, especially Amrothos: for all his careless appearance, she knew the war had scarred him deeply. He hid it well, but not well enough that she wouldn't notice.

Maybe she had judged Éomer too harshly. Riding atop his big grey stallion, he had seemed relaxed and at ease, occasionally joining the bantering of his men. Now, he sat between Éothain and another of his guards, the corners of his mouth twitching at his Captain's complaints about Heruwyn's quick changes of mood during her pregnancy.

Lothíriel sighed and looked down at her empty bowl: her muscles were still sore from the ride to Edoras and now that they were all sitting and relaxing, she started to feel tiredness spreading through her body, her eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

Gamling gave her a sympathetic smile: "We won't be up for long, Lothíriel. Feel free to retire, if you wish so".

She rubbed her eyes and slowly nodded, accepting his help to stand up: "I suppose I will call it a night, then. Thank you for the dinner and good night. My Lord.", she said, giving Éomer a small bow.

"Goodnight, Princess".

As soon as her head touched the bedroll she pulled the furs higher, until they were almost covering her head and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

* * *

Gamling gently awoke her at dawn.

"Come, Lothíriel. Breakfast is ready and we will soon be on our way".

The flab of her small tent closed and she pushed the furs aside. _Valar, but it's cold!_ She immediately pulled them back and groaned loudly. She took a couple of deep breaths before being able to muster all her courage: she pushed the blanket aside and, as quickly as possible, she put on her riding skirt and wrapped her cloak around herself.

When she stepped outside, she was welcomed by another bright, clear day and her mood immediately lifted. She joined the rest of the men and quickly ate her portion of dried meat, cheese and bread. She drank some water and when she turned, she realized that all the tents had already been dismantled and the horses saddled.

Today they would arrive at the Hornburg, which meant that the excitement of being able to admire the Helm's Deep was adding to all the rest.

During the ride, she asked many questions about the fortress. She had read something and Gamling, who hailed from the Westfold, had told her a lot about it. Still, there were many more things that she wanted to know. Unexpectedly, at some point during the early afternoon, the King flanked them and joined the discussion. He was still stern but looked visibly more relaxed. _Who would have told it!_

As they finally caught sight of the Hornburg, Lothíriel fell silent, taking in the view. Even with the damages caused by Saruman's army, the imposing fortress was a sight to behold. They approached it along the Deeping Road and after passing on a ramp, they entered the outer court. A giant of a man, with long reddish hair, matching beard and a black horn hanging on his hip, stood waiting for them. On his side was a tall, proud looking woman. Lothíriel judged them to be about the same age of her father and could guess who they were. Confirming her thoughts, the couple advanced towards them and the King introduced them as Lord Erkenbrand, Marshal of the Westmark, and his wife Déorhild.

Their host led the way and they climbed up on a road skirting the walls of the fortress. Lothíriel took the chance to have a first look at the place and if she had to pick up one adjective to describe it, it would have been _crowded_. Overcrowded, really. As if all the inhabitants of the deserted villages she had seen on her way from Minas Tirith, had concentrated in that place, in that street.

As soon as they reached the Burg, they were immediately shown to their rooms. They were located on the upper level and Déorhild took care of escorting her. As they walked through the corridors, she finally understood why Heruwyn had insisted so much to provide her not only with her riding outfit, but with a couple of gowns as well. Compared to this place, Edoras was the Mount Doom itself! _A big, grand, imposing, freezing fortress. Blessed Heruwyn!_

To add to her disconcert, the room she had been given was much bigger than her room in Edoras. Whether it was because there weren't smaller guest chambers (which she doubted), because Déorhild lacked Birthwyn's wisdom or, most probably, because they thought a Royal guest deserved appropriate accommodation, did not matter at this point. _Royal title be damned!_

"My Lady, I hope the room is to your liking. It is exposed to the sun from midday on and it is therefore warmer than the rooms located in the other wings", Déorhild explained. _Ah, so that's one of the warm room? What's on the other side: catacombs?_

"It's perfect, Déorhild. I thank you for your hospitality".

Erkenbrand's wife seemed to relax and gave her a relieved smile: "A bath will be soon prepared for you, my Lady. There isn't much time until supper is served, but I thought you might have wanted to refresh yourself after the cold ride".

"Thank you, Déorhild. You are most gracious. Though I must say that the beauty of the landscape has widely compensated the cold. I barely felt it, apart from this morning, that is!". Lothíriel gave her a big smile: she had the distinct impression that the older woman was feeling under pressure from hosting a Gondorian princess and she wished to reassure her.

Hearing some deep voices echoing in the corridor, she turned and caught a quick glimpse of the King and Erkenbrand passing by. Shortly afterward, three maids entered the room and started drawing her a bath.

As soon as the room emptied, Lothíriel stripped off her clothes and sunk into the hot water, mindful not to wet her hair. Regretting that she couldn't enjoy the bath for a bit longer, she was soon drying herself and dressing in one of Heruwyn's re-arranged gowns. It was rather plain and simple, but wonderfully warm. She would have never felt comfortable wearing something like that in Gondor, not even at an informal dinner. But things in Rohan seemed way more relaxed and avoiding catching her death with a cold surely had the priority over everything else.

Lothíriel stepped outside her room, into the freezing corridor: a shiver run along her back and as she made for turning left, towards the stairs, the door to her right opened and she found herself face to face with the King: "Good evening, my Lord", she greeted him.

He had changed into a clean tunic that, to her, looked awfully light. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine.

"Good evening, Princess. Is your room fine?".

"Quite so, my lord, thank you for asking".

He nodded and offered her his arm. As he led the way to the hall, an uncomfortable silence fell upon them.

* * *

Éomer sat at the head of the table, enjoying the meal and conversing with Erkenbrand. The ride from Edoras had relaxed him and his headache was finally granting him some respite.

On his left, Lothíriel was engaged in conversation with Déorhild and Gamling. After happening on her outside of their rooms, he had been left with no choice but to escort her to dinner. Feeling at unease in their heavy silence, he had made way to the hall in quick, long strides. Only after she had almost stumbled to the ground, had he realized that he had been basically forcing her to run in order to keep up with his long legs.

He had steadied her and she had given him an unsure, embarrassed smile: "Seems I haven't been blessed with the same long limbs of my brothers. Apologies, my Lord, that was clumsy of me", she had told him. Hardly so. She was short and it was surprising she hadn't tripped earlier, really. When he had given her a small smile, taking the fault for being so inconsiderate, she had stared at him, her mouth open. When she had realized it, she had hastily closed it, a blush spreading on her cheeks. She had put her hand back in the crook of his arm and they had had descended the stairs without further accidents. He had had the feeling that she was trying to recompose herself and only when she had felt ready, she had spoken again, telling him how much she had enjoyed the ride and how beautiful Rohan was. Her tone had been warm and he knew she had been sincere. Actually, she had probably been trying to restrain herself from blurting out all of her excitement. How she could one moment confidently hold herself against him and his advisors like an experienced ambassador, and the next one act like an excited young boy who is shown his first pony, was a mystery. But he had to give it to Gamling: he had been right about her. Even though she could be snotty at times, from what he had seen over the past three days she really deserved credit.

Not long after supper was finished Lothíriel excused herself, probably feeling exhausted after the ride. He, on the other hand, felt quite awake and stayed in the hall with the rest of his men until late, joining their chatters and drinking a few ales. When they finally retired, he split from the others in the Hall, as everybody else had been given chambers on the opposite wing. The honour of the big, cold rooms, had been reserved to him and the Princess and he doubted she had been happy about it. He had seen her shivering in the corridor and while she had hidden it well, he suspected that the hall hadn't agreed much with her either.

Passing by her chamber, he saw light filtering under the door and could hear the familiar scraping of quill on a parchment. _Has she retired earlier to work?_

He heard the noise of the quill being put down, followed by her light steps and the sound of the of coverbeds being shuffled around. He smiled to himself as he heard her blowing off the candles and soundly yawning. _Guess she finally retired, after all._

Only a soft light filtered now under the door, sign that the fire was still up and burning and that she would hopefully survive the night.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** well what can I say, I was quite unsure about the last chapter I posted and in the end, I got an amazing feedback. Thank you! That really keeps me motivated!

· _Katia0203:_ thank you! Well, I guess it's what we all hope and in this chapter I tried to give a first glimpse of his evolving perspective on the whole matter.

· _Tibblets:_ glad to hear it wasn't half the disaster I thought it to be!

· _Heckofabecca:_ let me just repeat how useful your feedback is! You really gave me some good food for thought on how to better play future plot twists and characters' development. Thank you!

· _Ranger:_ I find it interesting that somebody is siding with Éomer on this and it kind of makes me happy, because I am by no mean trying to depict Lothíriel as a perfect woman. And yes: I think Imrahil would be rather embarrassed by the haughty way she opposes Éomer on her very first day. I think you are at least partially right: Lothíriel behaves in such way because while being spirited, as you said, she is also young and unexperienced and her perspective on the whole matter is somewhat simplified. She knows things are bad in Rohan but probably doesn't fully understand it herself. Also, she is not a Rohirrim, so in a sense it's easier for her to take a stance without feeling the full weight of the implications on her shoulders. She is ambitious and a bit presumptuous at times, which is partially why she holds her ground so. However, as she explains herself, she is not pushing blindly for the celebrations and would change her mind if Birthwyn was to confirm the unavailability of food/ale. In a sense, both her and the councillors are pushing to have Éomer at least considering the possibility of a feast, even if small, rather than watching him simply turn it down. But you can also watch it the other way round: Éomer has his good reasons for deciding to call off the celebrations. However, as I hope it is quite clear at this point of the story, over the past few months he has also progressively isolated himself. His life is revolving around Kingship and he is never allowing himself a moment of respite, effectively detaching himself from everything that is not strictly related to ruling Rohan, completely neglecting the social aspects of his (/Rohan's?) life. As such, his point of view on Rohan's status might be over-pessimistic and his decision of calling off the celebrations could be overlooking some important aspects that Lothíriel and his advisors are trying to bring up. His councillors might be annoying but he is not surrounded by morons: there are many reliable people around him, people who are well informed about the food's situation and who care about Rohan as much as he does (Gamling, Birthwyn, Éothain, etc.). And these people firmly disagree with his pessimistic views and with his decision. Which is why in the end he decides to give it a chance and speak to Birthwyn.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 _The Hornburg, 27_ _th_ _December, 3019_

The three following days went in a blur of activities and soon enough the good mood and clear head he had gained during the ride from Edoras, dissolved into thin air.

Erkenbrand had done a great job at collecting the people scattered across the Westfold. However, while food did not appear to be a concern anymore, the capacity of the Hornburg was nevertheless limited. As such, more than a few refugees would have to be hosted in the Glittering Caves: he knew it was the only viable solution but hated it nonetheless, to think of his own people forced to spend the cold winter months sleeping in a cavern. Furthermore, Erkenbrand had confirmed that the inhabitants of several villages had refused leaving their homes and decided to stay behind. Provisions had been sent and, whenever possible, his Marshal had stationed a few riders from his own Éored in each settlement, in the hope it would be enough to act as a deterrent against possible orcs' attacks. The enemies' raids had seemed to be decreasing over the past weeks, but in Éomer's mind the memory of what had happened months before in Edoras was as fresh as ever: they could not let their guard down.

Gamling and the Princess had had their own full agenda and they had only crossed each other at supper. At the end of their first day at the Hornburg, they had both updated him on the status of the salt mines they had visited. They had spoken to the carpenters and though they were optimistic that they shall be able to mine enough before spring to start a trade with Gondor, they also confirmed that it would have taken much longer to have the extraction working at full capacity. However, the Princess had seemed positive: according to her, they would be easily able to place their goods on the Gondorian market at an advantageous price. She had chatted for almost an entire dinner about it, explaining to an incredulous Déorhild that the only source of salt of Dol Amroth was the sea water.

His mood slowly but inexorably sinking, the Princess had recounted enthusiastically and at length about their findings at the end of their first day in the Westfold. Less so the day after. And on their last evening, she had merely reported in a flat tone about what they had done and achieved, getting a grunt from him as an answer. In a similar way, his men had taken again their distances and on their last supper in the Great Hall of the Burg, he hadn't exchanged a single word with them, retiring as soon as he had finished his meal.

His headache steadily back, he had been avoiding ale and wine and somewhen around midnight, he had collapsed on his bed.

* * *

On their last evening at the Hornburg, Lothíriel stayed up until late together with Déorhild.

At first the older woman had been clearly uncomfortable in her presence, but she had eventually warmed up and over the past few days, they had spent a great deal of time together: whenever Lothíriel hadn't been busy with Gamling or other related duties, Déorhild had been more than happy to satisfy her curiosity about the Helm's Deep and, more in general, the Westfold. Her father had been the master armorer of the Hornburg for many long years and she had basically spent her whole life there. She had told her about living and being raised in the big fortress, about her first encounter with a young rider who would have then become her husband, about the dreadful night when the armies of Saruman had besieged them and they had almost thought everything to be lost.

Déorhild had also supported her and Gamling with their duties, answering all their queries and proving once more how more active was the role of wives in Rohan, when compared to Gondor. _And useful. Active and useful._ Thinking of Gilraen, she couldn't stop herself from shaking her head, concluding how very right was the Rohirric approach on the matter.

On the bright side, she had found the situation in the Westfold to be better than expected and felt positive about it. In fact, most of the mines would be able to at least partially resume extraction within a few short months and that was all they needed for the moment.

On the dark side, it had been heart breaking to see the refugees crowding the streets and she had shivered at the thought of those who would have to be relocated in the Glittering Caves. They were beautiful, but no family shall be forced to spend a whole winter there. It had also been impossible not to notice that everywhere they went, there had been definitely more women than men, many children and more than a few men crippled by the war. Their sight had brought her mind back to her visits to the House of Healing in Minas Tirith. After that fateful day, when she had entered the building moved only by her own personal interests, she had stayed truthful to her own vow and returned on several occasions, until the last of the Swan Knights had been dismissed. She had thought it would have gotten easier with time, but it never did, never. But despite everything, despite all the hurdles these people were still facing, despite the uncertainties paving the road in front of them, she could feel their determination to get back on their feet. And that gave her strength as well.

On the even darker side, though, the King was back to his old self, the sullen, grumpy one. The more days went by, the less he spoke, the more he grunted. Like in Edoras, she had often seen him holding his right temple, supposedly suffering from a persistent headache. All the confidence that they had gained during the ride, had quickly vanished. She had seen Gamling and Éothain throwing him concerned glances and she would have liked to help. But if those who had known him since he was but a child were at loss, she doubted there was much she could have done.

It was well past midnight when she finally bade Déorhild goodnight and left the hall. Lothíriel entered her room and closed the door behind her, feeling at the same time exhausted but also excited about the prospect of the ride back to Edoras, even though Gamling had warned her that the weather would not be so merciful again.

She carefully piled the parchments she had written over the past few days and ensured that the few things she had brought with her were already packed. She prepared her nightgown but as she was about to start unlacing her dress, she heard some noises coming from across the wall, from the King's room.

At first, she simply thought he was still awake and around. But he had never been so loud.

She heard the distinct noise of a furniture being bumped and a heavy object falling on the ground. Lothíriel got closer to wall, leaning with one ear on it: she could hear him mumbling something in his own language and even though she could not understand what he was saying, she caught a couple of times Gamling's name, as well as Birthwyn and Éowyn's.

Was he having a nightmare? She knew Amrothos often did, even though he had seemed to cope with them better than the King. She had asked him about it, but all she had managed to gather was that he would dream again and again of the battles they had fought, of the horrors they had witnessed and especially of the friends they had seen dying. Of all her brothers, Amrothos had always been the handsome, carefree one. The one with a permanent smile on his tanned face, chasing every day a different dalliance and seemingly able to joke about everything. And yet, that day in his big grey eyes she had seen such a deep angst, such a bottomless melancholy, that she had realized for the first time that war would have never been really over for those who had survived its trials. Her heart had tightened and she had felt at loss to what she could do to help him, what she could say to make him feeling better. Tears had been prickling at the corners of her own eyes and in the end, she had simply hugged him, with all the strength she had.

Lothíriel had never been in a battle, not even close to one. Even though she had been raised during dark times, she was well aware that she was at core nothing more than a pampered Princess, who had spent her whole life protected behind safe walls and brave knights. She knew she could not even start imagining what it would be like to find yourself in the middle of the battlefield, but she had thought it would make sense to dream about lost friends.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a louder scream: she could now hear what she presumed to be the headboard of the King's bed hitting the wall, she could hear him crying, panting. Again, she couldn't understand his words, but there was a desperate note in whatever he was saying, almost a pleading.

Lothíriel brought her hands to her chest and looked around. _What should I do? Should I try to wake him up? What would he say? Would he be angry, embarrassed?_ Should she simply go back to sleep, assuming he would know how to deal with his own demons?

She walked to the door, made for grabbing the knot but hesitated, turning back to the wall. It was quieter now and for a moment, she thought that maybe he had awoken. Then, suddenly, a louder, terrifying cry and after that, only a heavy, hard breathing. Her own heart was pounding and without a second thought, she stepped outside. She turned right and stopped in front of Éomer's door, knocking lightly.

Silence.

She knocked again.

Nothing.

"Éomer? It's me, Lothíriel. Is everything alright?". _Girl, what a stupid thing to ask!_

Still no reply, but she could hear his laboured breathing and doubted he was still sleeping. She looked around nervously but the corridor was deserted, as they were the only ones sleeping in that wing. She seized the handle of the door and hesitated for just a moment before slowly, carefully opening the door.

The fire had almost expired and the chamber was cold and dark. Lothíriel shivered and scanned the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The shapes of the furniture slowly became discernible: a desk covered with papers, an armchair with a tunic hanging over it, an armour and a shining blade, a bed with tangled sheets, Éomer's crooked form. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hiding his face. He was shaking and she could hear him panting, but she wasn't completely sure whether he had heard her coming in. As she made a couple of careful steps towards him, she noticed a mug of water laying in the middle of the room, its handle broken and missing, and she realized that Éomer's feet rested is a small puddle.

"Éomer?".

No response.

She did not know what to do. She could hardly hug him like she had done with Amrothos and words seemed as always so inadequate. She looked around, unsure whether she shall simply go back to her room or instead wait until he had at least calmed down. She glanced back at him, at the way he pressed the palms of his hands on his eyes, at his hunched shoulders, at his curled toes, as if regaining control of himself was challenging every single part of his body with an almost unbearable effort.

She couldn't go just like that. Sighing deeply, she walked to a chair standing in front of the fireplace and sat on it, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin on the top of them, nervously chewing on her lower lip.

Gradually, his breath slowed down and he eventually lowered his left hand, while keeping the right one firmly in place, its fingers moving in small circular motions on his temple: "Go back to bed", he hissed through gritted teeth.

Her head snapped up and even in the darkness of the chamber, she could see the haunted look on his face. She should have probably done as bid and go straight to her bed, but something was nagging in her head, the feeling that she was missing something:

"Gamling is alive".

Éomer straightened his back and looked at her, clearly not understanding what she meant: "What?".

"I heard you calling his name and I believe you called Birthwyn as well. But they are both alive and well".

He sighed, clearly frustrated by her persistence. If it wasn't for her rank, Lothíriel was positively convinced that he would have already shoved her out of the room. And none too gently.

What was with him? In Edoras he had been intractable and unbearable. On their first dinner together, he had been the portrait of misery itself, a gloomy and unsettling presence during an otherwise merry evening. The day after, when they had discussed about Yule in the Council, he had looked like he wanted to throttle her. Her and everybody else in the room. Later that day, he hadn't even showed up for supper and on the following morning he had barely given her a grunt. She would have thought that he simply disliked her, whatever the reason, but the truth was that he treated everybody in the same way. And everybody around him looked as if they were at the end of their ropes.

She had expected a moping ride to the Hornburg but instead, his mood had seemed to lift for every further step of his big grey stallion. The more Edoras had faded into distance, the more relaxed he had become, the more he had spoken and joked with his men. But whatever had been making him feeling better, it clearly hadn't extended to the Hornburg. For every further day in the big fortress, his mood had sunk a little more, until he had eventually gone back to his usual self.

Was it because of the situation in the Westfold? True, things here weren't peaches and cream, but they weren't so dire either and Gamling himself had been positively surprised. Had he expected somehow more from his men? From Erkenbrand?

 _No, not from Erkenbrand. From himself._ That was why he was calling Birthwyn's name among the others: this wasn't about the war.

"You weren't dreaming about the past, were you? You were dreaming about the days to come, you were dreaming of failing your people, your friends. Is that it?".

He gave her a murderous look that spoke in volumes. _He was!_

She thought back of everything she had learned over the past weeks, of everything that her family, her King and Gamling had told her about Rohan. Éomer might not have been raised as a crown prince, but there was no doubt that his ruling had proven so far wise and sensible. His early decision of aggregating the people in the main cities was going to ensure food, safety and a decent accommodation to all of them. Yes, it might take a few more months before every Rohirrim would have again his own roof over his head, but that was hardly his fault. And anyway, they were making good progresses also in that direction.

After the events of the past days, she wasn't honestly sure whether she liked the man or not, but what she was sure about, was that Rohan would prosper under his rule.

Lothíriel tried to think about something to say, but she could already hear his answers in her mind. _You can't blame yourself for the situation in Rohan, Éomer! I am the King, who, if not me, is responsible?_ _You are doing the best you can, Éomer! It's not enough._ _You are a good King, your people love you, Éomer! They don't know the half of it, Théoden and Théodred would have known what to do, they wouldn't have failed our people._

Lothíriel sighed and swung her legs down, trying to collect her thoughts. How to let him understand that it was beyond him if things weren't perfect in Rohan. How to make him understand that nobody, not even his uncle nor his cousin, would have been able to make things right, for none of them had ever had a magic wand to wave. How to let him understand that in a sense, this was simply how things were. How they would always be.

"My father is a great man and a wise ruler, Éomer. I'm sure you agree on that. And yet I remember, I was a young girl at the time: Adrahil, my grandfather, had died a few months before. We were suffering frequent incursions from the Corsairs. They would attack small villages, kill anybody who hadn't manage to flee on time, raid all the provisions and then vanish. It took father weeks before he managed to find their hideout, on an unpopulated island in front of the coasts of Belfalas. He wasted no time and sailed himself. At the time, most of our fleet was busy patrolling the coasts, trying to prevent the same attacks. He called back a good part of it to support the operation and it was indeed a success that gave us some months of respite. But more than a few of the Corsairs had somehow caught wind of it. They waited until the Amrothian ships had sailed away to support father, and then mercilessly attacked the villages left without cover. I was young at the time and they never really told me what happened, but I heard the servants speaking, whispering of a bloody carnage of defenceless women and children. My father was furious, he blamed himself for calling on the fleet in such a hasty way".

Lothíriel looked at her hands in her lap: yes, she remembered it clearly. Erchirion had been only twenty-one at the time and had ridden to the villages as soon as the news had come, but it had already been too late and she could still perfectly remember the expression on his face when he had come back.

Looking back to Éomer, she realized he was observing her. She stood and took a small step to his direction: "Do you think any less of my father, after this sad tale?".

He did not answer, but kept looking at her.

Lothíriel wriggled her hands and resumed chewing her lower lip: "I have never had the honour of meeting Théoden, but Gamling has told me a lot about him and I know he has been a great King. But things weren't perfect under his reign either, Éomer. You know that better than anybody else!".

Éomer straightened, his fists clenched on his thighs. _If looks could kill, this would have been my demise._

"Kings, Stewards, Princes. They are all but men, Éomer. They are no almighty, all-powerful beings. You are not. Even if we hope it won't be often, we all know there will be times when you won't be able to save everybody, to protect everybody. There will be times when you will have to make choices and live with the inevitable consequences. You _must_ accept that things will never be perfect, you _must_ learn how to carry the burden that comes with your role. Because you are the King, Éomer. A good King!".

Éomer's shoulders slumped and he rubbed his eyes. She couldn't be sure but she thought she had seen unshed tears and fearing he might feel embarrassed, she moved to the desk on the other side of the room, giving him time to recompose himself. There was a basin filled with water and some clothes: she dipped one into it and carefully squeezed it. Then she folded it and moved back to Éomer, holding it to him: "For your headache".

He took the cloth and pressed it on his forehead, keeping perfectly still and silent.

Once again, Lothíriel wasn't quite sure what to do. She didn't know what more she could say to ease his mind and after a few tense moments, she stepped back, turned and slowly made for the door, hoping he would find a better sleep until morning.

"You are awfully wise to be such a young Gondorian lady".

Lothíriel immediately stopped. She grinned to herself but put on an offended expression before turning back to him: "And you are awfully full of prejudices", she said, hands on her hips.

He shook his head, the ghost of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth: "Firefoot. I thought about sending you back to Gondor on Firefoot, at full gallop, after you went against me on the Yule matter".

She snorted but couldn't say she was surprised: "It would have been a death sentence and I doubt my father would have been pleased by it".

"I am sorry, Lothíriel. Ever since your arrival I have treated you poorly. Not that I have treated the others any better, but that hardly matters I suppose".

Her eyes widened: for all the hope of being able to offer him some help, she hadn't actually expected that he would apologize. A wicked smile appeared on her face: "I have also to make an apology".

Éomer looked quizzically at her.

"Ever since your welcome on the steps of Meduseld, in my mind I have been referring to you as the _King of Grumpiness_ ".

Her grin grew and he laughed softly: "Well, I suppose it is well deserved".

Silence descended again upon them. Now that he looked much better and there didn't seem to be any need for her to be there any longer, she felt suddenly conscious about the whole situation, about the fact that they were standing in his bedroom, alone, in the middle of the night. She shifted nervously her weight and thought it was probably the best moment to bid him goodnight and retire to her own room: "We have a long ride awaiting for us tomorrow. I shall better retire, now. Goodnight, Éomer".

She gave him a small bow and briskly stepped out of the room.

* * *

Éomer looked at Lothíriel's back as she walked out of his chamber.

Instinctively, he stood up and in three long strides caught up with her. She turned, surprised, and he pulled her in a bear hug, one of those he would give Éowyn upon coming back from a long patrolling, grateful for finding her waiting for him.

Lothíriel was very different from the type of women he was used to: she was a small thing, her head only arrived at his chest, her figure was lean. She had been taken aback at first, but she gradually relaxed and rested her head against him, bringing her hands on his back and returning his embrace, even if a bit awkwardly.

"Thank you", he spoke into her hair, before gently releasing her and taking a step back: "Goodnight, Princess".

He went back inside his room, closed the door behind him and heavily sat on his bed, staring at the chair where she had been sitting.

 _Do you think any less of my father?_ He didn't. Imrahil was a great man and a wise ruler, just like she had said. And yet, how many of his decisions had caused the loss of innocent lives?

 _Things weren't perfect under his reign either._ They weren't. Never had been.

His uncle had been like a father to him. After his mother had succumbed to the grief for the loss of her beloved husband, Théoden himself had ridden to Aldburg to bring him and his sister to Edoras. He had confronted him, helped him dealing with that burning rage inside him, loved him like he was his own son, taught him what honour, respect and loyalty were.

But there was no way he could deny that things in Rohan had started to deteriorate long before Théoden had fallen prey of Saruman's spell. And yet, was his opinion of his uncle undermined by this? No: Théoden had been a great man and a wise ruler, just like Imrahil. What a burden must have been for him to wake up from his captivity to realize darkness had spread over his beloved country, his own son dead at the hand of the same man who had bewitched him. But anyway, he had borne that weight.

Éomer had been but a small child when the raids of the enemies had started to spread across Rohan. He didn't really recall a time before that, a peaceful one. The memories of his childhood in Aldburg, no matter how happy, were filled with images of his father riding out with his Éored, of riders hurrying into the city to bring further bad news, of frantic meetings and worried glares. But in spite of everything, every time his father had come back from a patrol, he had always had a smile for him, he had never let his worries have the best of him.

 _You must accept that things will never be perfect._ He knew he could not save everybody. And he wasn't so naïve to believe that with the Ring War over, peace would bless them. It was only a matter of time before a new enemy would appear on the horizon. Then, he would have to lead his men to war, again. And many of them would never return to their families.

Éomer pressed again the cold cloth on his forehead and closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

She was right: he ought to accept the burden of his role and learn how to live with it.

For his people's sake.

For his own sake.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** here we go with another chapter. You weren't thinking things would have been so easy after the nice ride, were you? :)

 _MissCallaLilly:_ one small step at a time!

 _heckofabecca:_ Well, I'm 30 years old and sometimes I still behave that way! :D But yes, he is aware of what he is doing!

 _AHealingRenaissance:_ glad you are enjoying it. We'll see how it will go with Aefre!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 _The Hornburg, 28_ _th_ _December, 3019_

Éomer awoke shortly before dawn.

The night before, after Lothíriel had retired to her own room, he had spent a long time lying awake in his bed, mulling over and over about her words.

About Imrahil and Théoden. About his last months in Edoras and that permanent, suffocating sensation that had been constantly following him. About the way he knew he had detached himself from everybody around him. About how good it had felt to be riding again Firefoot on Rohan's beautiful plains, the noose around his neck loosening a little for the first time in what it felt like ages. About how excited he felt at the simple thought that yet another ride was awaiting for him on the morrow, having him wryly considering that maybe Lothíriel's enthusiasm was infectious.

And for the first time, the full awareness that he did not want to be any longer in that dreary, grim place he had built around himself, had come to him. An awareness that scared him and gave him courage at the same time. For he knew he needed to move on, just: he wasn't sure how to do it.

Éomer snapped up from the bed and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He tried to focus on the upcoming ride and purposefully made himself ready and headed straight to the Great Hall.

All the men of his party were already sitting at the table, gingerly eating their breakfast. Only Lothíriel was missing. The room fell silent as he took his seat and, as silly as it was, in that moment it suddenly came to him: for months he had been trying to take all the burdens on himself, to put all the problems of the Mark on his own shoulders. But in doing so, he had in turn become a burden himself for all the people around him. For Gamling, who had been trying to support him in every possible way, while at the same time trying to keep up with his awful temperament and sudden outbursts. For Éothain, who might have turned into a mother hen ever since becoming Captain of the Royal Guard, but was nonetheless his best and oldest friend: with the exception of the ride from Edoras, he couldn't even recall the last time he had spoken to him, while he knew the man had tried to approach him so many times. For Birthwyn, who had probably realized what was going on well before anybody else, maybe even before himself. For Éowyn, even though luckily the happiness for her upcoming wedding had saved her from the worse of it. For Aefre. For Lothíriel. For everybody, really.

His mind went back to Théoden's open smile and he took a deep breath: "Gamling, Éothain, is everything ready for departing?".

The two men diligently nodded. "Yes, Éomer King".

"A real pity the weather won't be as nice as on the way here, isn't it?", he asked lightly, pointing at the window and at the dark sky.

Gamling briefly stared at him but whatever he had been thinking, he hid it well. Éothain, on the other hand, was too cheeky to feign indifference and looked at him with raised eyebrows. Éomer braced himself for some saucy remark, but was spared by the arrival of Lothíriel. Needless to say, she looked excited and overly-energetic. Not even the prospect of a wet ride seemed to be able to undermine her mood and just as to prove him right, her enthusiasm quickly spread across the table.

As everybody started heading outside, he took the chance for a last quick chat with Erkenbrand, ensuring that the Marshal of the Westmark knew that his liege appreciated his work, his efforts and his support. Chances were that he wouldn't be able to visit again the Hornburg before Éowyn's wedding, but he knew he was leaving the Westfold in capable hands. The older man laughed warmly and clasped his shoulders, and together they made their way to the stables.

Most of his riders were already on their horses and he was surprised to find Firefoot already saddled and waiting for him. The ride from Edoras had calmed him down and apparently a brave stable boy had managed to make him ready. Éomer quickly checked on him but found everything to be in order. A few steps away, Lothíriel was already mounted on Sparkler, gently patting his neck. His eyes shifted on her legs and, frowning a little, he approached to her.

"Is the horse to your liking, Princess?".

Her face lit up: "Yes, my Lord! He is strong but gentle. I already love him!".

Behind him, a couple of guards chuckled at her cheerful declaration.

"Your stirrups are too short, Princess", he said, pointing at them.

She immediately turned serious and looked down at her foot: she stared at it for a few seconds, then at him, then again at the foot. He chuckled himself and gently took her foot out of the stirrup, noticing a light blush spreading on her cheeks. He fixed the length of the stirrup and put her foot back in, then did the same on the other side. Once he was satisfied, he looked up at her: "Better?".

Once again, she looked at her foot, first one, then the other: "I suppose?".

"Trust me, by the end of the day, you would have felt the difference on your legs and especially on your knees. This will be more comfortable".

She still had a doubtful expression as she regarded her legs: "I guess you are the expert, my Lord".

More giggles came from his guards and he glared at them over his shoulder. They immediately turned serious and diligently took a few steps back, pretending to be suddenly very busy with something on their own saddles.

"You can call me Éomer".

A deeper blush spread on her cheeks and for a moment she seemed taken aback: "Oh, yes, my L…I mean, Éomer. Then we shall dispense of the titles. You can call me Lothíriel!".

She gave him a bright smile and nodded eagerly her head, her small hands holding tight on Sparkler's reins. Éomer looked at her and thought that in that moment, she looked amusingly adorable. To him, she seemed like a living contradiction: just a few hours before she had stood in his room, refusing to leave when he had told her to, giving him enough food for thoughts to last him until spring. And now there she stood, her cheeks flushed and amusing half of the Hornburg with her thrilled moods.

A soft laugh escaped him: "Very well, Lothíriel. Then let's get going".

He walked back to Firefoot and noticed Gamling looking at him through narrowed eyes, Éothain by his side with a smug grin on his face. _Good grief, I know that look!_

He gave them his deepest frown and mounted Firefoot, leading the party out of the Hornburg.

* * *

The peaks of the White Mountains kept hidden behind a thick veil clouds for the whole day. Even so, every now and then a ray of sun would make it through and enlighten a patch of green grass on the endless plains of Rohan, painting a breath-taking contrast with the dark sky above them. _So beautiful._

He had expected a wet ride but in the end, they made it dry until dusk. The mood stayed merry throughout the whole day and they all enjoyed the ride, Lothíriel more than everybody else, that for sure. Looking at her, easily chatting with each and every of the riders in his guard, he had been forced to admit once more that Gamling had been right: she was truly Imrahil's daughter. Graceful, nurtured and poised like any Gondorian lady. Easy-mannered, friendly and good-hearted like any of the members of the Amrothian's family.

He decided to stop for the night in the same spot where they had camped on their way to the Hornburg. Once the horses had been taken care of, they all started to quickly mount their tents, fearing rain would start pouring on them from one moment to the other.

He was taking care of his own accommodation, when suddenly he heard Firefoot and the other horses neighing.

Instinct took over: his right hand immediately reached for Gútwinë's pommel while he ducked to retrieve his shield. In unison, they all turned towards the group of trees standing between them and the mountains. With the sun already set and the sky dark with heavy clouds, visibility was somewhat limited. Éomer sharpened his senses: he could see a storm approaching and, for the split of a second, he dared hoping that the horses, with their sensitive hearing, had merely been spooked by the sound of some distant thunder. But instead, they kept nervously whinnying and he knew something was lurking between those woods.

He quickly glanced at his men. They were spread around him, alert and ready.

While waiting for Walda to mount her tent, Lothíriel had been probably trying to avoid getting in the way of their organized camp, for she stood slightly apart from the main group, Herubrand by her side. He exchanged a look with him and the man understood immediately: he gave him a quick nod and pushed Lothíriel further behind him, shielding her with his own body and slowly retreating. Walda was slowly moving back towards them when the first orc rushed out of the woods, quickly followed by others.

The tense silence was broken and the sounds of the fight filled the air. Steel clashing against steel, Éomer advanced and slew a first orc. He turned just in time to raise his shield and protect himself from a strong stroke aimed at his back. _A cursed uruk-hai._ He evaded a second blow and swung Gútwinë at the foul beast, who swiftly jumped back. But now, his short, broad-bladed sword put him at disadvantage: Éomer knew it and charged angrily at him, swinging Gútwinë from below and before the uruk was able to recover from fending off the stroke, a second one cut his head clean off.

Éomer turned to the centre of the battlefield: no more orcs nor uruks were coming out of the woods. He counted only five still alive and his men were making a good job out of them. It was just a matter of moments before they would completely dispense of them.

But then, he noticed something: even though Herubrand and Lothíriel had retreated further from the trees, an orc had anyway managed to reach them, his lifeless body now lying at Herubrand's feet. Walda had been engaged with the others and hadn't managed to get back to them. In the confusion of the fight, two uruks had managed to pass the main group of riders and were now sneaking on Herubrand and Lothíriel, probably thinking that a man and a woman would make an easier target. But Herubrand was no ordinary rider: they engaged him together but he stood his ground and before Éomer could reach him, he had knocked out one of the uruks by bashing him forcefully with his shield and run his swords through the other. When Éomer finally caught up with him, it was already over. All he could do was to sheath his sword and, grabbing one of his knives, finish the first of the two uruks, who was still lying on the ground, stunned.

As quickly as the fight had started, it ended.

Éomer looked up, frantically searching for Lothíriel, a cold fear that some other uruk had managed to sneak to her before anybody could notice it. But he immediately saw her, standing a few strides from him, eyes wide and as pale as a sheet. He could see that she was trembling and quickly hurried to her side: "Lothíriel!". He cupped her face with both hands and looked at her, up and down, checking for wounds. But she looked fine, there was no blood staining her clothes.

She was badly shaking and it was only then, that he noticed she was gripping a dagger in her right hand. He searched her eyes but she was still staring intently at the two dead uruks behind him. Gently, he covered her right hand with his: for somebody so small, for somebody trembling so, the grip on the dagger was surprisingly strong.

She gasped, as if suddenly realizing that it was over and that he was in front of her. She raised her eyes on him and then looked down to the dagger in her hand, immediately releasing it. Éomer gave it a quick look: it was a rather simple but elegant, deadly weapon, the hilt engraved with a swan at the top of it. He passed it to Herubrand and returned his attention to Lothíriel.

"It's alright, Lothíriel, it is over. I am sorry for what happened, I am sorry you had to witness this…".

She lifted again her big grey eyes, tears threatening to spill, and stared at him for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck and hiding her face against his armoured chest. He circled her with his own arms, holding her gently but tightly, waiting for her to calm down. Over his shoulder, he signalled to his men and they promptly started cleaning the ground from the bodies, while three riders entered the woods to ensure they got them all.

When he turned back to Lothíriel, he realized that even though she had already stopped crying, she kept holding on him, breathing heavily. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and started moving his hands in slow circular motions on her back. Gradually, he felt her relaxing and mumbling something unintelligible: "What did you say?".

"It's not your fault that it happened, Éomer. You don't need to apologize".

He immediately tightened his hold of her, deepening his nose into her hair, breathing deeply in her scent as he closed his eyes: "I know".

The sound of somebody coughing had him twisting his neck. Gamling stood a few steps away and, while looking at Lothíriel with a mix of concern and relief in his eyes, he pointed at something with his head: Walda had very quickly mounted her tent. He nodded and returned his attention to the woman in his arms: "Lothíriel, your tent is ready. Will you lie a bit while we prepare the camp?".

She gave a small sob and slowly released him. Reluctantly, he let her go and put his hands on her shoulders: her eyes were red but she wasn't crying nor shaking anymore. She sniffed up her nose and gave him a small nod but as he made to pick her up and carry her to her tent, she stopped him: "I'm fine, Éomer. I can walk. I would rather to, actually".

Éomer smiled inwardly. _Never judge a book from its cover._

He offered her his arm and they started to walk towards her tent. They were almost there when she suddenly stopped and released the hold on his arm, moving purposefully towards Herubrand. He couldn't hear what she told him, but the rider gently smiled at her and bowed his head, before Lothíriel surprised him with a quick, tight hug.

She then walked back to him and finally they made it to her tent. He held open the flap as she stepped in: "I will call you when supper is ready, Lothíriel. Just lie a bit".

With Lothíriel safe and unharmed in her tent, Éomer released a deep breath and passed a hand through his hair. He walked to Éothain and was immediately briefed and informed that, apart from a few superficial scratches, his men were fine and the scouts had found no sign of other creatures in the area.

* * *

Lothíriel tried to lie in her tent and calm her nerves.

Everything had happened so fast. She had been asking Herubrand about his son, when a tense silence had fallen upon the camp. Everybody had seemed to be frozen on the spot, all facing the same direction, their hands already on their swords. Éomer had looked back at them and given some silent order to Herubrand, for he had pushed her behind his large frame, stepping further from the woods. She hadn't really believed they would have been attacked until she had seen the first creature running towards them.

At first, she had felt so astonished by what was happening, that she hadn't even been afraid. Not even when an orc had reached them, for Herubrand had made such a quick job out of him, that she had barely had the time to realize what was happening. But then, right when the fight had seemed to lose momentum, she had suddenly realized that two of the bigger creatures were striding towards their direction. And when Herubrand had shoved her aside and launched himself at the first beast, then she had felt utterly terrified. Somewhen, she had taken out of her boot the dagger that her father had given her: almost paralyzed with fear, she had observed Herubrand knocking out the first creature and then swiftly killing the second. She had felt unable to tear her eyes off those foul beasts: their nose was flat and their skin dark, their mouth wide and their eyes slant. _More than ten thousand._ That was what Déorhild had told her: more than ten thousand of them had besieged the Helm's Deep, less than nine months earlier. The mere thought of it, was an horror far beyond her imagination and yet in that moment, she could think of nothing else. She hadn't even realized that Éomer had been there until she had felt his big hand on hers.

His eyes had looked so different from the gloomy ones she had gotten used to: they had looked as alive as ever, wide and full of anger, fear, concern. His warm hands had cupped her face and she felt ashamed that she had cried herself out on him but on the moment, she could not have helped it.

Lothíriel curled up under the blanket. Outside, she could hear the men moving around, presumably dispensing of the carcasses and preparing the camp. She heard the cracking of the fire and soon she perceived the last light of the day fading away, the sky turning dark.

"Lothíriel?".

"Yes, Éomer, I come".

She rubbed her eyes and opened the flap of the tent. Éomer smiled down at her and walked her to the fire. She took place between him and Gamling and was soon served a bowl of steaming stew. She wasn't feeling particularly hungry but she wanted to avoid Gaming fretting over her, so she forced herself to finish her portion. She would have liked to stay up and listen to him telling some story, but her eyelids felt so impossibly heavy. She wavered and felt Éomer's big hand on her shoulder.

"Gamling, I'd suggest our Princess to retire, but I'd rather avoid doing another poor job like last time. How shall I word it again?".

Gamling was barely stifling a laugh: "Princess, we will all retire soon and a long ride awaits for us on the morrow. Feel free to retire and get some sleep".

Éomer cleared his voice: "Princess, we will…", but she cut him short.

She briskly stood up and strode to her tent while muttering under her breath: "Seems to me you have forgotten a couple of orcs here!", which made the group roaring in laughter.

* * *

The sounds of the camp woke her up.

Lothíriel pushed the blanket aside and sat up. Looking down at herself, she realized that the night before she had fallen asleep in her riding outfit, which now looked evenly creased. She shrugged her shoulders: _whatever._

She brushed her hair, braiding them in a long side tress, as she had always done since arriving in Rohan, and stepped outside of her small tent. A sound splash had her looking at her foot and she realized that it must have rained for the whole night, for the camp was now literally swimming in mud. _I haven't heard a thing…Valar, I was REALLY tired._

All the other tents had already been dismounted and only hers had been left standing. Sparkler was being saddled at that very moment and she spotted Gamling talking with Éomer on the other side of the camp.

Herubrand was sitting on a rock next to her tent and greeted her with a smile: "Good morning, my Lady".

"Good morning, Herubrand".

He made place for her to sit next to him and passed her something to eat. Feeling somehow groggy and dazed, Lothíriel nibbled her breakfast in silence, only occasionally glancing at the guard on her side. As soon as she had finished eating, she saw him shifting and taking something from his belt: "I believe this belongs to you, my Lady".

She took the dagger from his hands and looked down at it, sighing deeply: "My father gave it to me when I first started to take care of the trading for Dol Amroth. I had always guards with me, but he wanted me to have a weapon, even if a small one. He had Elphir training me for weeks, until I was able to decently throw it and could more or less confidently handle it. But to be honest, after yesterday, I am not sure I would ever be able to put those lessons into practice".

Herubrand put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze: "Then I shall make sure you will never need to, my Lady".

Regardless of the rain and the cold, the rest of the ride to Edoras went on smoothly and the mood was once again high, for the riders were happy of going back to their families and getting to celebrate Yule. However, despite the long, deep sleep, Lothíriel felt oddly numb and kept to herself for most of the time. Éomer and Gamling rode next to her, occasionally making some remark, but otherwise they luckily let her be.

In her head, she thought again and again about the events of the last night. She knew it had been just a small skirmish, and that awareness unsettled her even more. If such an insignificant encounter had been so terrible and horrific, what was to live a life at war? To live a life where everyday was like that, probably worse?

It was ridiculous, really: she was part of a family of warriors and so many times she had looked at her father and brothers riding to battle, everytime knowing that there was a chance some of them might not return. And yet, she had needed to come to this distant land, surrounded by this good people, to start understanding what war was really about. Glancing quickly back to Éomer, she wondered how he had managed to deal with it for most of his life. She wondered how much a man can take, before inexorably breaking.

It was well past dusk when they finally caught sight of Edoras and at that point, all Lothíriel could think of was her nice, small, warm room. Warm, very warm.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** short but hopefully dense chapter. We are back in Edoras but things are looking quite different compared to when we left it. Lothíriel has definitely had chances to see past Éomer's gloomy façade while at the same time being confronted with the reality of war and its consequences. Éomer, on the other hand, has at least gained full awareness of his situation and has understood that he needs to do something. Where will they go from here, remains to be seen! :)

 _solar1:_ Thanks! I'd say there are two factors at work: on the one side, Lothíriel is definitely wise, wiser than the average twenty years old girl. On the other side, the fact that she is the daughter of a Prince has given her the chance to get acquainted with aspects of ruling that other people might neglect or underestimate. Hence the wisdom.

 _Rubandepluie:_ thank you so much! That you like my characterization and plot means everything and I will only add that the real plot has yet to unfold. Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _MissCallaLilly:_ let's hope he stays away as I doubt anybody would miss him! ;)

 _Tibblets:_ I feel your _finally_. Glad you liked it!

 _AHealingRenaissance:_ see, he's not that hopeless! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 _Edoras, 30_ _th_ _December, 3019_

The morning after their return in Edoras, Lothíriel woke up and realized it was well past dawn: in fact, the sun was already high in the sky. _Damn Andes, she was supposed to wake me up!_

She jumped out of the bed and put a cloak around her shoulders. Carefully, she opened the door of her room and peaked her head outside. She saw her maid at the other end of the corridor and called for her: "Andes, why haven't you waken me up! I will be late for the Council and I have a lot of things to do!".

"My Lady, I'm sorry! Yesterday the King told us about the ambush and Birthwyn insisted that I should have let you rest a bit longer!".

Lothíriel sighed: truth was, she had really needed a long, peaceful, warm sleep. Plus, she doubted that Andes would have ever wanted to antagonize Birthwyn, for she had the feeling that the old woman could be a force to be reckoned.

"It's alright, Andes. Come, help me getting ready, we have no time to waste!".

She quickly wore one of the gown she had brought from Minas Tirith while her maid braided her hair in a pretty but practical way.

"My Lady, shall I bring you some breakfast?".

"No, Andes. I will do without for today. But grab me something cold for lunch or I won't make it until supper. Just leave it here and I will come when I can" Lothíriel said, pointing at her desk.

She hurried down the corridors and, after a couple of wrong turns, she managed to find the Council room.

The Council's morning session went by quickly and, to everybody's surprise, Éomer informed them that he had decided to cancel the one planned for that afternoon, practically anticipating the start of the festivities of a few hours for all of them. After that, he quickly excused himself and disappeared but to Lothíriel's relief, he had looked better. If at the end of her first day in Edoras she had thought him to be a gloomy shadow at times, a concentrate of anger at others, he now appeared livelier and, maybe, even more serene.

She walked back to the Great Hall, finding it once again crowded and bursting with activities: tables had been brought in while the chairs and the bedrolls had been removed. From what she had gathered, since Meduseld had no food to spare for a proper dinner, Birthwyn had decided instead for a different setting. A kind of buffet would be prepared, so that even though people won't be served a full meal, nobody would go to bed starving. And on the bright side, Meduseld's storage rooms did not lack in ale. That, plus the music and the dancing, was enough to ensure a merry Yule.

Finding herself keenly anticipating the feast and determined to enjoy the unexpected free time, Lothíriel stepped outside Meduseld, Herubrand and Walda following her as usual. As she started descending the stairs, thinking about going to the seamstress to see whether she had already finished some of her new gowns, she noticed that an even bigger crowd was packing the streets Edoras.

"It's market day, my Lady. More than a few local merchants arrived in Edoras earlier this morning. Hence the excitement", Walda explained.

She didn't think it twice and, after a first stop at the stables, she ventured through the Riddermarket.

She freely wandered through the streets, fascinated by the fact that everything was at once the same and yet so very different, when compared to the markets in Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. People were busily hurrying from one stand to the other, some loudly bargaining, some cheerfully chatting. Some casually walked from shop to shop, pretty much like she was doing, some moved around with a precise purchase in mind. It was a variegated crowd of men and women, youths and elders, peasants and nobles. In this, the Riddermarket was exactly like its Gondorian correspondents. But at the same time, it was so very different. The colours were different, the smells were different, and some of the trinkets on sale, she had never seen the like of them before.

She eyed a stand selling all different types of wood carved objects and she thought she could buy something for little Alphros. A horse caught her attention and she carefully took it: she hadn't pushed Sparkler that much, but on the way to the Hornburg she had at times allowed him to set the pace and gallop for a while, feeling exhilarated by his power and speed, by the awe and the sense of freedom that had rushed through her veins. And by simply holding that small horse between her fingers, she could feel again all those sensations: the artist who had carved it, had paid such an amazing attention to the details, from the tense muscle to the wind-blown mane, that it looked like he would actually start moving from one moment to the other.

 _Alphros will love it!_

Her eyes fell upon another wooden horse. This one was a mare, flanked by her colt, their muzzles tenderly touching. It was such a sweet picture that she couldn't help but smiling: _ah well, one toy for Alphros and one for me!_ Walda helped her in the purchase, acting as a translator, and soon enough they were strolling to the next shop.

She glanced over her shoulder and felt a bit sorry for her guards: if they were anything like her brothers, they were probably dying of boredom. Or at least that's what Amrothos had theatrically claimed the last time he had walked her around for some shopping.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the next store: this wasn't a stand, but a proper shop, selling all different types of metal ornaments. Lothíriel stepped inside and greeted the young man sitting behind the counter. She walked around, looking with interest at the objects on display: there were some jewelleries, various ornaments, weapons even. On a shelf, she found a beautiful hairpin: it was made of silver, elegantly engraved, and the top of it was of course shaped in the like of a horse's head. If somebody had told her about a hairpin with a horse on top of it, she would have thought it silly. But this was indeed beautiful and elegant in its own way.

The man approached her and Lothíriel saw that he was missing a leg and relied on two wooden crutches to move around: "My Lady, do you see anything to your like?". He spoke a good Westron and had a warm expression: "My name is Wídfara, my Lady. May I perhaps show you the rest of the hairpins in this set?".

Lothíriel nodded eagerly: "Yes, please, they are lovely! Did you make them?".

Wídfara took the hairpin and slowly moved back to the counter: "Nay, my Lady. These have been crafted years ago by my father, Léofara".

He presented her with the other hairpins and Lothíriel held her breath. They were all slightly different and gracefully beautiful: "Oh my, these are the most beautiful hairpins I have ever seen!".

Wídfara's smile grew. "My father would have been pleased by such compliment, especially since it comes from a Gondorian princess".

Lothíriel looked at him, uncertain.

"He died on the Pelennor Fields, my Lady. I was luckier" he said, patting what was left of his thigh and never losing his smile.

"You are a man of great spirit, Wídfara son of Léofara. And I will buy this set before any other lady put her eyes on it!".

The man bowed his head and she heard a small chuckle coming from Herubrand. As she turned to say something, she noticed that behind him was standing the very same woman she had seen on her first night in Edoras. _And she looks even more beautiful._ The woman strode confidently through the shop, her big blue eyes piercing her. Herubrand and Walda greeted her as if they knew each other, but she barely acknowledged them.

"My Lady, this is my sister Aefre. Aefre, this is the Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth". Wídfara seemed blissfully unaware of the glare his sister was giving her and Lothíriel hesitated for a moment.

 _Oh well, I'm a Princess of Gondor and it takes more than that to make me shy away._ She straightened her back and checked her expression: "Well met, Aefre. I was just admiring the craftwork of your father and brother and found it truly remarkable" she said, gracefully making a half turn.

" _Rohan_ has plenty of skilled craftsmen, my Lady. _You Gondorians_ always seem to find it surprising, for some reason".

"Aefre!", Wídfara snapped.

But Lothíriel didn't flinch. She had had her share of arrogant, conceited merchants when trading for Dol Amroth. All presuming they knew better than her, all thinking they could easily get her to sign a better deal (for them) just because she was a woman, and a young one. The fact that the scorn was now coming from another woman, whatever her reasons, hardly made any difference.

"If any Gondorian has been so inconsiderate or blind enough to belittle Rohan's craftsmanship, then let me apologize on their behalf, Aefre. I hope you won't hold it as a grudge against me, for both me and my family keep Rohan and her people in the greatest esteem". And with that, she made a small bow with her head. As she lifted her eyes and saw Wídfara turning as red as a pepper, she regretted a bit her direct approach: she hadn't meant to embarrass him, for he wasn't at fault for his sister's rudeness.

Aefre's fists were clenched at her side and she was clearly working hard on keeping her temperament from flaring. _What's with this woman? We have barely crossed each other before and I have anyway been most of the time away from Edoras._

"Aefre, what has got into you?! Apologize immediately!".

Lothíriel stood still and poised, her chin raised, perfectly playing the part of the Princess. Aefre gave her what she judged to be the fakest smile she had ever seen and inclined her head, not bothering to bow: "I am sorry, _Princess_ , it wasn't my intention to offend you". And with that, she turned and disappeared through the door behind the counter. _Not good at playing these games, are we?_

For his part, poor Wídfara bowed as low as his one leg allowed, apologizing profusely.

"No offence taken, Wídfara. Please, be at ease". Lothíriel smiled reassuringly but he was still hesitating, the reddening on his face lingering. "Wídfara, I'd like to purchase a gift for my father. Is there something you would like to suggest me?".

The man blinked a couple of times, clearly surprised, before managing to collect his thoughts: "You do us great honour, my Lady. How about a Rohirric dagger? Would that suit?"

"It would suit very much, Wídfara".

The man disappeared behind the counter for a few moments, before reappearing with some daggers. And indeed, there was one that she thought fitting. It had a golden polished and richly engraved hilt, while the hard leather sheath was in the typical Rohan's dark green. Wídfara explained her that he had personally crafted the hilt and the sheath, while the blade came from the master smith of Edoras.

"You know, Wídfara, I think you could easily sell daggers like this in Minas Tirith. Maybe less elaborated ones". The man, who had been packing the dagger she had chosen, lifted his head and looked at her.

"Wídfara, any soldier who has fought in the war knows the valour of the Rohirrim. The Swan Knights of my father have been speaking about you and your horses without an end over the past months. They count many of the Rohirrim as their friends and I think that more than a few of them would gladly purchase something like this. And given that the prices in Gondor, and especially in Minas Tirith, are much higher than in Rohan, I believe it would be a good business opportunity. You should seriously think about it".

Wídfara looked thoughtfully at her, slowly nodding his head: "Aye, my Lady. That I will do. I thank you for your visit and your advice. And please, accept once again my apologies for my sister's behaviour, I really don't…".

But Lothíriel stopped him there: "Wídfara, we have already cleared that one up. No need to speak about it any further. Now: I think it's getting quite late and there are many other shops that I'd like to visit, so I will take my leave. Will you be at the celebrations, later this evening?".

"Yes, my Lady, of course! How could I miss our first Yule free of the darkness?".

"Wise words, Wídfara. I'll meet you later then".

Upon stepping outside of the shop, Walda sniggered behind her: "Sure enough you know how to hold yourself, Princess!".

She caught Herubrand glaring at the younger man but dismissed it without a second thought. Even though she had eaten the dried meat and cheese that Andes had left in her room, Lothíriel was feeling quite ravenous: "Herubrand, Walda, would you like something to eat? I'm hungry, to be honest!".

"There is a stand that sells the best meat pies of all Edoras, just behind that corner, my Lady".

* * *

Éomer crossed the market with long, satisfied strides.

Even across a sea of blond heads, spotting Herubrand's tall form was an easy job. He saw him entering Wídfara's shop, followed by Walda. _Ah, escorting a Lady at shopping, is there any worse task that a man could be given?_ Grinning, he proceeded on his way towards the stables to pay a short visit to Firefoot.

The building was unusually quiet: he reached Firefoot in one of the last boxes and greeted him, passing him a juicy apple. The big stallion greedily ate it and nuzzled his shoulders in an affectionate way: "I'm sorry, Firefoot, I have been neglecting you as of late. I will try to behave better from now on".

"He has missed you, Éomer". He briskly turned to see Aefre approaching him, a sweet smile on her lips.

The evening before, he had found her once again waiting for him in his chamber. Truly, he would have rather gone straight to sleep, but the sight of her naked body and the way she had invitingly looked at him, had been too much. Even more than that, he had felt his conscience heavily guilty for the way he had treated her over the past weeks, if not months. So when they had lain together, he had tried to be more considerate of her, ensuring that she had found her release before going for his own.

Later that night, when he had suddenly awoken, not quite remembering which nightmare had been paying him a visit, she had looked at him. Instead of silently waiting for him to hold her, she had once again tried to get him to speak about it, saying the usual stuff that everybody had always told him. She had unnerved him but he hadn't wanted to throw her out, and so he had silenced her in the only other way which had come to his mind. That had put an effective end to their conversation.

Coming morning, when he had found her still in his bed, crouched next to him, he had started to regret the events of the night before. She had smiled and given him a languid kiss and, as quickly as possible, he had dressed up and left the room.

Feeling the bump of the small package in the pocket of his tunic, he though back of what Lothíriel had told him on their last night at the Hornburg. Somehow, she had understood him and hadn't tried to cosset him with soothing words: quite the opposite, in fact. She hadn't given up when he had ordered her out, but had granted him a moment of respite when she had seen him in need of. He sighed and when he looked up, Aefre had come to stand in front of him: "I have tried to visit him sometimes, but he has never accepted any of my treats".

She laughed softly and Éomer's eyebrows knitted: "He is a war horse, not a pet hound, you should know the difference". He hadn't meant to sound that harsh, but the fact that she had been visiting his horse, annoyed him.

Birthwyn's words from months earlier came back to his mind: _the fact that she knows what she is for you and has accepted it, doesn't mean that she isn't hoping that there was more between the two of you_. That day, he had roughly dismissed his housekeeper and had never given her words a second thought. Until now. Had she been right? Was that the reason why Aefre had been keeping up with his terrible temperament and the carelessness he had shown her? Was that the reason why she had been visiting his stallion, hoping that building a bond with his beloved horse might have made him look at her with different eyes?

"I am sorry, Éomer, I hadn't meant…".

He breathed in and out. Losing his temperament wouldn't be of any help: "It's alright, Aefre, I shouldn't have been so harsh".

She relaxed immediately and he took the chance to grab a couple of more apples from a bucket hanging nearby. Firefoot greedily took the first one and then went straight for the second one: "Easy, boy. You have had enough for today!". Closely followed by Aefre, he walked a couple of boxes down and Sparkler's head readily peaked out: the horse nuzzled his hand but didn't take the apple he offered him. Instead, he limited himself to enjoying his strong pats.

The stable master entered the building and walked towards them, smiling knowingly: "The Princess has visited him not long ago, my Lord. He has already had his fair share of treats!", Éobold explained him.

"The Princess visited Sparkler?", Aefre asked.

"Yes, yes. She rode him to the Hornburg and she seems to have fallen in love with him. And I believe it to be mutual, eh Sparkler? She has also taken care of offering a treat to all the horses of your Royal Guard. Herubrand and Walda have been quite amused, less so when she has approached that big brute of yours", Éobold laughed heartily.

Éomer groaned, thanking Béma that Herubrand and Walda had been with her, least Lothíriel would have gone back to Minas Tirith missing some fingers.

"Fret not, Éomer King: Firefoot has been on his best behaviour!".

"Has he?". True, the ride to the Hornburg had calmed him down. _But still…_

"Yes, he has politely accepted her treat and then…he has totally ignored her! The Princess was quite disappointed and has whispered something about an _orc master_. Whatever it was, Herubrand and Walda wouldn't stop laughing!".

Éomer narrowed his eyes. _An orc master? Would that be ME?_

"Are Gondorian mounts so lacking that they can't even take such a simple ride?".

Aefre's tone was unmistakably venomous and both him and Éobold stared at her. The stable master spoke first: "Not at all, Aefre. I have seen Prince Imrahil's horses and they are truly remarkable, not to mention that they share more than a bit of Rohirric's blood. The Princess' mare is a fine, lovely animal. But she isn't used to long rides and cold winters".

Éomer nodded: "Not to mention that she might have panicked at the sight of the orcs. No, Gamling made an excellent choice at assigning Sparkler to Lothíriel while she is in Rohan".

Somebody called Éobold and the man excused himself, shortly disappearing outside. Éomer gave a last pat to Sparkler and made for following him, but Aefre put a hand on his arm to stop him. She seemed to be at ease again and was handling him a small package: "Happy Yule, Éomer!".

He furrowed his brow and she added in a haste: "It's just a small gift, Éomer. I am not expecting anything back, please!".

He hesitated, Birthwyn's words echoing in his head: the evening before, he had behaved with her better than he had ever done since the beginning of their affair. Not only because of his guilty conscience, but also because it was the right thing to do. Had she taken it as an encouragement?

He shook his head: "I can't accept it, Aefre, I'm sorry".

While Yule's gifts were traditionally exchanged only between family members, it was also very common to do so with close friends. So he _could_ have accepted it. But if anything of what Birthwyn had told him was true, he didn't want to delude Aefre, giving her false hopes. Because she was a beautiful, young, smart woman. The previous night, he had enjoyed lying with her like never before. And he really wanted her to continue visiting him at night, but only if he could be sure that she wasn't expecting anything more from him, from them.

Aefre was clenching the package, glaring at him. She looked more angry, than hurt. _I suppose that's…good?_

"As you wish, Éomer. I'll see you later, then". And with that, she stormed out of the stables.

Sparkler gave him a bored look and he sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

* * *

Later that day, Éomer stood in the Great Hall of Meduseld: leaning against one of the pillars, he observed the celebrations.

Birthwyn had outdone herself. It might not have been the most lavishing Yule they had seen, but it was indeed one of the merriest and the loudest ones. Plenty of different types of food had been aligned on the tables for everybody to get a bite of something. Many barrels of ale had been carried upstairs from the cellars and a lively tune filled the air. Since there had been no official dinner affair, the dances had started earlier than usual and the main floor was already crowded with pairs twirling around. Lothíriel was there as well, dancing with Gamling. Or at least, she was trying to: she wasn't familiar with the steps and was making a great mess out of it, surely torturing poor Gamling's toes. But they were laughing loudly and did not seem to care one bit. Nor did the rest of the people around them. He smiled when she almost tripped over and crashed into the next couple, her enthusiasm not in the least affected as she went on with the steps, her cheeks flushed red from the exertion

Shortly before the start of the celebrations, he had asked her to join him in his study. When she had entered, already dressed for the evening, he had held his breath: he had always considered her pretty, but right then she had looked beautiful. She was wearing a dark green Rohirric gown, in a simple cut that underlined her slim but elegant figure. The sleeves were long and loose and the inside was dyed of an intense red. _How appropriate_ , he had thought.

When he had given her his Yule's gift, he could have sworn that she would have rather been swallowed by the floor. She had turned red and profusely apologized for not having anything for him, explaining that in Gondor the etiquette demanded gifts to be exchanged exclusively between family members. He had reassured her, saying it was only a small gift to express his gratitude for her support. He hadn't elaborated any further, but she had understood that he hadn't been referring to her Ambassador's role. Not only, at least. Eventually, she had accepted his gift: it was just a simple bracelet in dark brown leather, but along its length was an elaborate crossing of thinner threads in green and red, making it a perfect match to her gown.

Éomer turned, noticing Wídfara slowly moving between the pillars. War had taken much from him, but he looked good. He wasn't sure whether he knew about him and his sister, and given the outcome of their earlier encounter, he felt slightly at unease. But Wídfara smiled serenely at him, making a small bow: "Good evening, my Lord".

"Wídfara, it's good to see you!", Éomer greeted him, clasping his hand.

"Aye, it's good to be here. As I told the Princess earlier, how could I miss our first Yule free of the darkness?".

Éomer laughed: "I take it you have been part of her afternoon shopping tour?".

"Indeed. The Princess has honoured my shop with a lengthy and productive visit".

"You still have something to sell for the next days or did she buy everything?", he asked mischievously.

Wídfara laughed at his tease: "Nay, my Lord. But the Lady has a good eye: she has bought something that my father had crafted a long time ago. Something he has never been able to sell, what with darkness spreading and guests deserting Edoras".

"Ah, the hairpins!", Éomer exclaimed. To have him noticing a lady's hairpins, it must have meant that there was something special about them.

"Aye, my Lord! And she has also bought a dagger for her father. Actually, she has given me some nice advices as well".

Éomer raised an eyebrow and prompted him to continue: "The Princess seems convinced that I could easily sell some of my daggers at a fairly good price in Gondor. I have thought for the whole afternoon about it, and I must say that she might be right".

"Why, that's good news, Wídfara. How would you like to do it?".

"Ah, that I'm not sure yet, but I have a couple of ideas in mind".

Éomer looked at the other man, clinging to his crutches but nevertheless positively thinking about the future. At his strong spirit, he felt his own lifting: "Think about it, Wídfara, and let me know if I can help you. Consider that we ride to Gondor for Éowyn's wedding in a few months: it would be a perfect occasion and I would be happy if you were to join us".

Not only it was true, but the ride to Minas Tirith was not going to be the fastest one. There would be families with them, including more than a few small children and even with one leg, Wídfara would have no problem at keeping up.

After a few more sips of ale and after having exchanged a quick chat with some of his people, Éomer turned back to the dancefloor.

After a quick break, Lothíriel had resumed dancing, this time with Walda: they were laughing at each other and she clung on the rider as he swirled her around. _What in Béma's name had Gamling been thinking when he had assigned Walda to Lothíriel's guard?_

Walda swirled Lothíriel even faster and she laughed louder, squeezing her eyes shut. _That's quite enough._ As the tune ended, Éomer put down his mug and moved to the main floor. He came upon Walda's back and put a hand on his shoulder: the young rider turned, a broad smirk on his face, and if he had been surprised by his presence, he hid it well.

Lothíriel looked up at him and probably thought it wise to warn him: "Éomer, I must tell you. I have no clue what the steps are and I might seriously endanger your toes!".

"I am willing to take the risk, Lothíriel", he grinned at her.

She hadn't been jesting. They started dancing and at the beginning, she seemed to be able to keep up decently. But as soon as the steps quickened, she was lost. And true to her words, she stepped more on his toes than on the floor. _Béma be praised that she is a small thing._

But her excitement for her first Rohirric Yule was contagious and he found himself laughing back at her: "Are you just as bad with Gondorian dances as well?".

" _My Lord_ , I will have you know that I am considered an excellent dancing partner in both Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth!", she proclaimed solemnly.

"One might wonder if it is because of extensive practice or instead because of low standards".

"You know, _my Lord_ , you are almost making me regret your grumpy self!".

Éomer laughed heartily as the steps quickened and his toes were given a more intense treatment. Actually, he started to suspect that she was deliberately worsening it and decided to take action. The hand that had been resting on her lower back pulled her closer to him, the same arm slipped around her waist and he effortlessly lifted her some inches off the ground, holding her against him as he followed the dance's steps and swirled faster around.

"Éomer!", she shrieked, but there was laughter in her voice and he did not put her down until the tune had ended. When he finally did, they were both laughing and out of breath and Lothíriel was flushed red. He was just about to claim her for the next dance as well, when a young boy pushed through the legs of the adults and confidently approached them. He immediately recognized him: Holdred. He was only three years old but there was no doubt who his father was, both in looks and in heights.

Herubrand's son waived excitedly at Lothíriel: " _Lotriel_ , father wants me to go home with mother!". Éomer chuckled at the failed attempt of the child of rolling Lothíriel's name in his mouth.

"Ah, then I suppose I shall grant you the promised dance!".

Herubrand had meanwhile managed to catch up with his son and made for saying something but Lothíriel shook her head, smiling. She instructed Holdred to step on her feet and then started dancing, holding his hands. _At least the boy's toes are safe._

Walking out of the dancefloor together with Herubrand, he came across Aefre. She was dancing with a young rider and gave him a deadly glare, probably still furious for his refusal of her Yule's gift. Éomer sighed and shrugged his shoulder, hoping she would calm down before the end of the night.

And indeed much later, when he entered his room, he found her there. He looked at her, trying to discern whether she was still upset: for a moment, he though there was a strange expression on her face, but then she smiled at him and he breathed in relief, gladly joining her on the bed.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** Well Happy Yule, folks! After so much grumpiness and negativity, it was nice to write a happier chapter (mostly happier, at least). Our blissfully unaware Éomer is definitely doing better but ironically, the consequences are not exactly what we hoped for!

I have written this story up to chapter 18 but I'm planning it to be longer than that. However, since life is kind of getting in the way and I want to keep updating regularly, from now on I will update just once a week. This should give me enough time to write the rest of the story while keeping posting!

 _AHealingRenaissance:_ hopefully this chapter had you melting as well! ;)

 _Shvestaa:_ glad you are enjoying it!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 _Edoras, 1st January, 3020_

Once again, Lothíriel woke up late. But this time, she didn't rush out of the bed: in fact, everybody had assured her that after the celebrations, the whole Edoras would be moving slower. Probably because of that, Éomer had deemed it wise to cancel any Council activity as well, leaving her with the prospect of an unexpected but much welcomed day free of any duties.

She lay a bit longer, relishing in the warmth of her bed and sinking deeper under the thick blanket.

Her first Yule in Rohan had been something she would surely never forget. Something that couldn't have been more different from the celebrations in Minas Tirith but that in a way, had reminded her of Dol Amroth before the war: of the evenings spent with her family and their closest friends in the hall of her father's palace, of that sense of familiarity, of the shared laughs, of the awareness that for once they -which rather meant her and Amrothos- wouldn't have to watch too carefully for etiquette and formalities. Those were golden memories of carefree days that had soon found their end: once war had come upon them, there had rarely been an occasion to have the whole family reunited. Sometimes her father had to ride to Minas Tirith, sometimes it was Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos would often be at sea and with the roads getting more dangerous, even her aunt hadn't been able to visit them as often as she used to. Over the past few years, she had sometimes spent Yule in Minas Tirith. And while she had always loved the White City's colourful and sophisticated celebrations, when it came to Yule she couldn't help but finding them cold and unfamiliar.

For her, there had been a Yule before the war -a cheerful, merry event to share with family and friends-, and a Yule during the war.

Childhood's memories can be a traitorous, precious thing, filling your heart with the longing for blithe days that will never return: days when age hadn't started to weight over your father's shoulders, when his face had been smoother and there hadn't been any grey in his hair, days when you were able to look at the future with excited curiosity and never with dreary foreboding. The more she grew up, the more all those infinite opportunities that had seemed to pave the road in front of herself had reduced, for she was a woman, a Princess and a Gondorian. No matter her _famed enthusiasm,_ as Gamling called it, the more she grew up, the more reality fell upon her, the less carefree she felt. And she could safely say that her stay in Rohan, no matter how short, had already confronted her with a reality that was way harsher than the one she was used to. It had started with those gloomy, empty villages along the Great West Road and it had continued with the sight of the refugees crowding the Hornburg, filling the caves, until the ambush on the way to Edoras.

And yet, the day before had been such a joyful occasion. The specific setting that the circumstances had demanded, with a buffet instead of a proper dinner being served at the tables, had probably contributed at making the whole event more informal than usual, even in Rohirric standard. All she knew was that she had found herself being swirled around by probably at least half of the riders in Éomer's guards, laughing breathlessly and forgetting for a few hours that there was a world full of problems waiting for them outside of Meduseld's doors.

Her eyes fell upon the gown she had been wearing. When she had picked it up, she had been pleasantly surprised: when she had commissioned the gowns, she had thought more of practicality than anything else and hadn't requested anything fancy. As such, she had been expecting something plain but warm. Instead, the seamstress had presented her with three new gowns that were at once warm but also very pretty. The one she had worn for the celebration was particularly beautiful and she had immediately loved the contrast of colours given by the sleeves. To honour the local tradition, she had wanted to wear her hair free, like most of the women seemed to prefer in Rohan, but she had also wanted to try out those new hairpins. So, she had asked Andes to do something in between and had not been disappointed. The bracelet that Éomer had given her, had perfectly completed her outfit.

She sighed deeply and hid her face in the pillow as she thought of it, for the day before had also been one of the most embarrassing of her whole life. In Gondor, it would have been considered very inappropriate to exchange gifts with people who weren't family members. She had thought the same would apply in Rohan, and had understood her mistake when it had been too late to remedy.

Lothíriel took the bracelet from the nightstand where she had put it the night before and looked at it. As Éomer had said, it was a small gift, but she could not prevent a big smile from spreading on her face as she looked at it. It wasn't something she would be able to wear in Gondor, but she liked it. A lot. _And so I shall make sure of wearing it as much as possible until I am still in Rohan._

She had understood what he had meant, when he had said that he wanted to thank her for her help. And she was relieved by the fact that Éomer had seemed to have drastically improved. During their ride from the Hornburg, she had been afraid that he would have resumed to his bad temperament once they would have reached Edoras but instead, he had been in a lighter mood. And the effects could already be seen across Meduseld: it was as if the whole household had sighed in relief. But at the same time, she was also very well aware that these were special days of festivities, and she feared that Éomer might not find it that easy to keep his spirits high once routine rolled back in.

She thought of her dance with him, of the way they had jested with each other, of how he had lifted her off the ground and held her to his warm body, of how little Holdred had saved her from further embarrassment. Éomer might be a warrior and might often hide himself behind a stern and gruff mask, but he was more than that. _So much more._

She groaned loudly in the pillow and at that moment, Andes entered the room: "My Lady, is everything ok?".

She rolled and slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes: "Yes, Andes. How are you this morning? Did you have fun yesterday?".

"Yes, my Lady, very much so".

 _Sure._ The evening before, in the new gown that she had commissioned for her, Andes had looked lovely. However, it was quite clear that she hadn't been enjoying herself: she had seen several riders asking her to dance, but she had turned them all down, keeping herself constantly apart. _I suppose she misses her betrothed more than she had expected._

* * *

When Lothíriel entered the Great Hall, she realized that she was one of the few already up. As predictable, Birthwyn was there as well, eating some cheese at the table: "Princess, you are up early!".

The old housekeeper smiled at her and Lothíriel took a seat next to her: "I'd say it's the others who will be late". Birthwyn smiled and nodded, passing her some of the cheese.

"Birthwyn, do you know when will the next courier for Minas Tirith leave?", she inquired. Now that she was more aware of Rohan's condition and potential offer, she wanted to write back to some of the merchants she had already spoken to, before the snow would make communications harder.

"Aye, my Lady. Bregdan shall depart tomorrow. You should tell that maid of yours: today is the day to write her letters!". The old woman was smiling, but Lothíriel thought she sounded ever so slightly annoyed.

"Has Andes given you any trouble while I was away, Birthwyn?".

"No, my Lady. The morning you left she approached me, asking if a courier was to leave to Minas Tirith while you were at the Hornburg".

"Oh my, I forgot to tell her! I had promised her that she could have sent a letter to her betrothed with every courier, but it slipped my mind!".

"Yes, my Lady, I remember your enthusiasm that morning!". Lothíriel blushed but Birthwyn gave her an affectionate smile before continuing: "As I was saying, she approached me as soon as you were out, and I told her that a courier would have left either on the morrow or the day after, and she has been adamant that she needed to know precisely, so that she could write as much as possible in her letter about her first days in Edoras. Youth!".

They both shared a laugh and a few more maids joined them at the table. Only a few of them spoke the common language and Lothíriel had had the impression that at the beginning many of them had felt intimidated by her or, most probably, her rank. But they were quickly getting used to her presence and warming up to her, and Lothíriel enjoyed the breakfast, chatting and laughing with them. _Gilraen would have a fit if she could see me, having a meal with the servants!_

She grinned and found Birthwyn staring intently at her: "Birthwyn, are the shops open?".

"Didn't you have enough shopping, yesterday? Those poor guards of yours were loaded as mules!".

The whole table giggled and a soft laughed escaped Lothíriel as well before she explained herself: "I have received a few Yule's gifts yesterday but I had nothing to give back, because in Gondor we only give gifts to family members. I wanted to remedy and visit some leather crafting shop, since I have a few hours free". Yes, indeed the day before, after she had left Éomer's study, more embarrassment had assaulted her, first in the form of Gamling's Yule's gift, then in the form of Heruwyn's one. No matter how profusely she had apologized, no matter how much they had not seemed to care, she still wanted to return their kindness.

Birthwyn eyes drifted to the bracelet on her wrist: "Aye, I see you like such things, my Lady. But I'm sorry to disappoint you: shops will be closed today. As you noticed: Edoras is still sleeping". Lothíriel puffed her cheeks, earning some more giggles from the maids.

"My Lady, would you like to join us for a short ride later?", asked one of the younger maids, a small girl with a sweet heart shaped face, probably only a couple of years younger than herself.

"What Holdwyn means, my Lady, is that it is tradition on this day for the citizens of Edoras to go for a short ride along the course of the Snowbourn", Birthwyn explained.

"Oh, I'd love that, Holdwyn! Thank you for inviting me!". The young girl blushed deeply and gave her a shy, happy smile.

Lothíriel left the Hall shortly afterwards. Since she still had a few hours until the ride, she decided to go through some records she had asked Éomer for. He had told her that he would have left them in the library, so she quietly walked towards it. But as it still happened sometimes, she took a wrong turn and instead ended up in the wrong wing of Meduseld, the one hosting the Royal chambers.

Birthwyn had given her a quick tour during her first day in Edoras, but the place still felt a bit like a labyrinth to her. Remembering what the housekeeper had told her, she recognized the door to the King's chamber and wondered if Éomer was still inside, sleeping, if he was still having nightmares. She hoped not, she hoped he would be able to catch some good sleep in the weeks to come, to help him dealing with his daily duties in a more serene way.

As she made for turning to head back and find the library, the door opened.

 _Ah._

Lothíriel unconsciously clenched her fists. Aefre sinuously slipped out of the room, perfectly silent, closing the door with great care. As such, she didn't notice her at first. When the door finally closed and she could release the handle, she turned and stopped dead upon seeing her. They looked at each other only for a short moment, because soon Aefre gave her a small, satisfied smile. She bowed respectfully her head and spoke in a whisper: "Good morning, my Lady. You seem lost. May I be of help, perhaps?".

 _What an insufferable, spiteful, beautiful, tall woman!_

"A good morning to you, Aefre. No, but I thank you for asking. I merely took a wrong turn, that's all. I know my way, now". Lothíriel turned and walked away, forcing herself to move slow. She could feel Aefre's glare on her back. _Running away would not do._

When she finally found the library, she shut the door behind her and heavily fell on a big armchair by the window. _Silly girl, what were you thinking?_

Actually, she didn't know. But she had enjoyed Éomer's company over the last few days: when he wasn't too busy scowling around, he was the wise, caring, humorous man that her father and brothers held in such great esteem. She thought again of their dance on the night before, the way he had teased her, the way he had looked at her as his arm had slipped around her waist, the way his laughter had rumbled in his chest as he had firmly held her. _It was just a dance. Nothing more than what had meant for me to dance with young Holdred. That's all._

Determined, she stood up and moved to the desk. _I have a job to do, that's what I am here for!_

* * *

A few hours later, she was retrieved from her reading by a knock on the door. Birthwyn entered the library carrying a tray: "My Lady, I thought you might want to eat something before the ride".

"Thank you, Birthwyn. How much time do I still have?".

The housekeeper placed the tray on the desk: "Enough for eating something and changing clothes. Holdwyn will meet you in the Great Hall with Herubrand and Walda".

"Excellent! Thank you, Birthwyn!".

Lothíriel quickly ate her lunch and hurried down to her room, where Andes helped her changing into her new riding outfit. It was similar to the one Heruwyn had lent her, but the skirt was higher on the waist and it fitted in general tighter, hugging perfectly her figure. Also, it was in a deep blue, the closest to the Dol Amroth's one that the seamstress had managed to find. It was one fine outfit and Lothíriel looked satisfied at the mirror.

All the while, Andes chatted restlessly, inquiring whether she had started some new negotiations and if she thought that Rohan would manage good, coming spring. While she had always considered Andes to be a smart girl, she had never thought her interested in such topics. Sure enough, she had never asked about it before. Lothíriel considered that her handmaid must have been very bored. She was always busy for the whole day here in Rohan, and given how less formal the society was when compared to Gondor, she had rarely requested her help for more than assisting her bathing, wearing a simple gown or arranging her hair in an easy way.

She satisfied her curiosity as much as she could, given that as Ambassador she was committed not to freely disclose about her job. Andes showed great interest, asking one question after the other, and Lothíriel thought that she would make a great wife to her betrothed: "Andes, before it slips my mind again: the courier to Minas Tirith will leave tomorrow, so you might want to finalize those love letters of yours!", she said grinning. But Andes immediately stiffened, lowering her eyes: "Come, Andes, I was merely jesting. I have indeed spent the whole afternoon writing letters myself. I have already given them to Birthwyn but she will wait for yours before passing them to Bregdan. Just try not to wait till the last moment, ok?".

"Yes, my Lady. And thank you!".

As Birthwyn had told her, she found Herubrand and Walda waiting for her in the Hall, together with Holdwyn and a flock of other young maids. _This is going to be funny_. The girls were clearly in awe with the younger rider and Walda was dispensing smiles here and there. _Those dimples would be the end of any woman_.

Only Holdwyn stood apart, looking clearly embarrassed at the scene in front of her eyes.

"Shall we, my Lady? The horses have already been saddled", Herubrand said, with a smirk on his face.

"Perfect! Let's go then!".

The group merrily descended the stairs and reached the stables. Lothíriel was happy to see that Éobold had saddled Sparkler for her. She loved her mare dearly, but Sparkler simply seemed a much safer mount in this surrounding. She made sure of bringing Bethril a treat, before finally mounting and following the rest of the group outside Edoras.

As they had told her, it seemed that the whole city was strolling along the river. There were riders on their huge war stallions, women mounting no less impressive horses, couples sharing the saddle, children proudly sitting on their small ponies. There were also a few people simply walking along the river, and the atmosphere was joyous and relaxed. She spotted Gamling, Éothain and Heruwyn, not far from them. _What in the Valar's name is the woman doing on a horse?_ She cringed, staring at her, and her thoughts must have been plain on her face.

"It is normal for women of the Mark to ride until the very end of the pregnancy, my Lady. I take it the custom is different in Gondor?", Herubrand asked.

"Different? Normally women in the last trimester barely leave their houses! I have always thought it ridiculous, to be honest, but riding seems quite…extreme?".

Herubrand laughed heartily: "I assure you, it's completely safe. My own wife rode until the very last week! And as you have seen, Holdred does not seem to have suffered from it". He wicked at her and Lothíriel chuckled, thinking of the boy. Yes, he was definitely a healthy, strong boy.

Some cheers had her turning and she saw Éomer riding out of the North Gate, followed by some of his guards. He greeted his people and carelessly rode forward, seeming perfectly relaxed. _And unfairly handsome._

She spotted Aefre as well, riding on a beautiful grey mare, halfway between them and Éomer. She immediately tightened the hold on her reins, waiting for the moment they would greet each other. But Éomer merely acknowledged her with a nod of his head, and rode further. Aefre's eyes followed him with a hard look and she seemed to stiffen in her saddle.

Lothíriel turned her head back to the front and soon their group was flanked by the King. He cheerfully greeted them and then his eyes rested on her. Afraid that her cheeks would betray her, she tried to think of something to say.

"I was very glad to find Sparkler saddled for me!". It wasn't the smartest thing to say, but at least it was true.

"I have asked Éobold to do so. Your mare is fine for a ride between Minas Tirith and Pelargir, but I would feel much safer knowing you on a Rohirric mount while in Rohan. Plus, he seems to have taken a like on you!". No chance she wouldn't flush red, now. She fixed her eyes on the horizon, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Thank you, Éomer", she said, bringing an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear, trying to cover her embarrassment and cursing the way the events of the day before was making her feel so self-conscious in his presence.

"So, it has come to my attention that you have managed to feed an apple to Firefoot. I must say I have been surprised".

Lothíriel heard a strangled noise coming from Walda but didn't bother to turn: "You have been wrongly informed, Éomer. It was a carrot, not an apple. And I do not understand why all the fuss. He doesn't seem to be half the brute everybody claims".

"Just an appropriate mount, considering his master is an orc?". Éomer had a wide grin on his face and now Lothíriel felt her cheeks in flames. Herubrand and Walda roared in laughter, like they had done the day before in the stables, and she glared at them with a murderous look.

"Be at ease, Lothíriel, your guards have not betrayed you!". Éomer put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, before heading forward, a rare smile still lingering on his face.

Once the mirth had extinguished and while Lothíriel was still intent at staring at her saddle, cursing her light complexion and trying to regain a normal colour, Holdwyn came up riding next to her and spoke in a low voice, leaning towards her: "It's a good thing looks can't kill, otherwise I swear Aefre would have already murdered you a dozen of times!".

Another maid, whose name she could not remember, came up on her other side: "Don't turn, my Lady, she hasn't stopped glaring yet. I bet she is still furious after what has happened yesterday!". Lothíriel arched an eyebrow, her curiosity now growing, and the woman continued: "I have it from reliable sources that she has presented the King with a Yule's gift, but the King has refused to accept it. Apparently, she was furious!".

Lothíriel frowned, touching the leather bracelet hidden under her sleeve: "But it is normal to exchange gifts between friends, so why would he refuse? Wouldn't it be rude of him?".

"My Lady, what do you know of Aefre?", asked the older maid, giving her a pointed look.

"Not much, I guess. I know her brother, Wídfara, for I have visited his shop yesterday. I have only crossed his sister a couple of times, that's all".

"She arrives in Meduseld late at night, and leaves at dawn, my Lady".

"Maegwen!", shrieked Holdwyn. _Maegwen, that's the woman's name._

"What, Holdwyn? True, I might hold a grudge against the woman, but that doesn't change the facts".

"So, she is his mistress?", whispered Lothíriel.

Maegwen snorted: "I would respect her more if she was that. My Lady". And with that, she bowed her head and urged her horse forward. Lothíriel followed her with her eyes and a confused look on her face.

"Please forgive her, my Lady", Holdwyn put in. "Aefre and her aren't in good terms. But Aefre isn't as bad as she says, she is a good woman. She just…falls in love with men who wouldn't return her feelings".

The whole discussion had at this point left Lothíriel with more questions than answers, but she did not miss Holdwyn's bitter tone at the last statement.

"And what about you, Holdwyn? Is there a man too blind to return your feelings?".

The girl lowered her head and her eyes darted nervously around. She blushed deeply: "No, no, my Lady, there is nobody! Nobody at all!".

Lothíriel looked at her through narrowed eyes, but let the topic fall. For the moment, at least.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** I only realized before posting this chapter, that it is all based on Lothíriel's POV. However, I thought it fitting for the moment and to have a few things placed in the plotline. Hope you enjoyed it!

 _AHealingRenaissance:_ yes, he is definitely behaving like an idiot. It's just that in my mind, it wouldn't have been realistic if he went from zero (meaning the grumpy one) to top (the noble man we know him to be) in just one day. In my mind, such things take a bit more time! Glad you liked the chapter, despite idiot-Éomer!

 _Catspector:_ Ah, thank you so much for your review. You have no idea how important it is, for it really helps keeping my motivation high! :) At this point of the story, I think Éomer has definitely realized how wrong his behaviour has been (not only with Aefre). And it's quite selfish that even though he is starting to suspect that Aefre might have feelings for him, he is willing to keep the affair going. But he is also being very clear with her, there are no false promises here, and yet she insists visiting him. Which I think should speak a bit of her character (of which we will at some point learn more…). Hope you liked this chapter as well!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 _Edoras, 3_ _rd_ _February, 3020_

A month had passed since Yule and days had quickly fallen again into a busy routine. Winter had finally come upon them: cold winds would often blow the plains and a pristine cover adorned the White Mountains. Occasionally, snow had fallen on Edoras as well, blocking temporarily the roads and only allowing for intermittent correspondence with Gondor.

Even so, there was so much to do that it hadn't take long for Éomer to feel again overwhelmed by the burden of his role. The celebrations had been a happy digression and he couldn't feel more glad that he had listened to Lothíriel and the Council on the matter. But even though he had been trying his best to get acquainted with his new life and his new responsibilities, he had soon started to feel again as if he was drowning into his duties: the number of refugees who had reached Edoras had far surpassed any previous expectation and with Meduseld full to capacity, it had come to the citizens to do their part and host some of the homeless families. In addition to that, the situation in the Wold remained partially unknown: they had done their best at sending supplies and gathering the herdsmen, but only coming spring they would really know how they had fared and whether they had all made it through the cold months.

If he had to pick up a word which best described his mood, it would have to be _swinging_. There were days when he would find himself able to cope with his tasks, when he would find the time to go for a short ride, when he would feel up to joining the rest of the household in the Hall. But there were also nights when his nightmares would have him waking up in a puddle of sweat and with a throbbing headache. And no matter the effort, he would end up the day in a foul mood and with the wish to lock himself away from everybody and everything around him. The only cold comfort was that at least he was aware of it and would avoid venting himself on the people around him, and especially on Aefre.

Things between them were as odd as ever. A little voice in his head kept whispering and reminding him of Birthwyn's words and a couple of times he had even tried to breach the topic to Aefre, only to be quickly reassured that she was fine with how things stood between them. At first, he had been relieved. But the more time passed by, the less he could tell why the whole affair was still ongoing. On bad days, he would simply ask her to leave. On good days, in more than one occasion he had found himself deliberately prolonging his work until late night, so that he would find her already asleep and could simply join her on the bed. Sometimes they would lay with each other and while he could not deny that he enjoyed it, that he enjoyed her, he had also to admit that somewhen, somehow, it had started to feel cold and empty.

As for the rest of the people around him, he knew that they were constantly on their toes, trying to decipher his moods and keeping at distance whenever they thought it wise. The only one who seemed to dare more was Lothíriel. On those evenings when he would lock himself in his study to eat alone and work till late, she had stubbornly taken to join him. At first he had been annoyed, but soon enough he had found something soothing in her presence. There were nights when she would barely speak a word, keeping her attention focused on the records she was reading, her quill gently scraping the paper. And on those nights, he would often end up observing her, the way she would bite on her lip whenever she was trying to figure out something, the way she would annoyingly bring any rebel strand of hair behind her ear, the way sometimes she would unconsciously mumble when going through something she had just written.

Even though he had occasionally found himself at the receiving end of her sarcasm about his _grumpy self_ , as she had taken to call it, she had otherwise been the epitome of patience. He honestly doubted that any other Gondorian woman would have liked to exchange place with her: but despite the fact that there was an infinite amount of more entertaining things that a young Gondorian princess could be doing rather than keeping company to a brooding King, she seemed perfectly happy with her current situation. The only thing she kept complaining about from time to time was the cold: on one particularly cold evening, he had observed her shifting in her chair until she had finally given up all the pretences of the perfect poised princess and had resolutely asked for a blanket, spending the rest of the night wrapped in it, only one arm and her head picking out. Not even when she had decided to retire, had she departed from it, clumsily walking down the corridor in small steps, resembling the cocoon of a silkworm, her figure completely hidden under the fluffy white blanket. No matter how foul his mood had been, it had gotten a smile out of him.

It had been only a few days after that night, on one of those clear winter days which are at the same time the coldest and the most beautiful ones, with freezing wind gusts blowing over the snow-covered plains, that Éomer had been entering Meduseld after a short ride when he spotted a rider galloping at full speed towards the city. A rider bringing news. Bad news.

* * *

Some sixty miles from Edoras, at the roots of the White Mountains and not too far from the Great West Road, a large pack of orcs had attacked a settlement. Éomer knew the place. He had wanted all the inhabitants to move to Edoras or Aldburg for the winter, but they had preferred staying and nothing had convinced them otherwise. The village had some very basic defence structures and the people, among them more than a few riders who had come back from the war, had been positive that they could fend off some small attacks, were they to come. The young rider who had brought the news was just a sixteen years old boy. Exhausted from the ride, he had told them how they had been attacked at night, by a group of more than fifty, but surely less than one hundred, orcs. The boy's father had put him on their fastest horse as soon as the attack had started and had told him never to stop until he had reached Edoras. And thus he had done.

Later that day, when he had communicated the Council that he would have personally led an Éored to fight the orcs, there had been an uproar. All the advisors had agreed that he should have stayed in behind, for they could not risk the last member of the House of Éorl, not without an heir. Gamling had sided with them as well, telling him to leave the job to himself, that it was the best choice. They had yelled at each other, but when Gamling had turned to Lothíriel, pleading her with his eyes to say something to have him changing his mind, she had stayed silent. She had looked at him straight in the eyes, her face inscrutable. And then she had simply added: "I believe the King shall go". That itself had caused another uproar and he knew that later that day, she had had a long quarrel with Gamling.

The rest of the day had gone by quickly, what with all the things that needed to be done, so that they could ride first thing in the morning. As such, he had not had a chance to speak to her, to express his gratitude for her support and especially to ask why she had behaved so. For he was quite sure that despite her words, Lothíriel herself had agreed with Gamling and the other advisors.

The following day, even though they had pushed hard their horses, they had not managed to get to the attacked village before nightfall, not with a layer of snow covering the plains and slowing their pace.

They had reached it by noon of the following day, but there hadn't been much left. A carnage. Like the countless ones he had already witnessed as a rider first, and as a Marshal later. The village had been burnt to the ground, dead mangled bodies emerged from the fresh snow, the stocks of food that had been sent for the winter completely plundered. They had searched long and hard for survivors, hoping somebody might have managed to hide from the beasts, but had found none. Only dead bodies. Men. Women. Children.

A scout had come back shortly afterwards, reporting tracks heading to the mountains. The last snowfall had covered the most of them and he could not tell much more than that, but Éomer had thought that he might have known where they were headed to, for there was a large system of caves, not half a day on foot from there. If the orcs had found it, they might have been using it as a shelter. With all the provisions they had plundered from the village, they could have easily made it through the winter. And if they hadn't seen the young boy riding away to raise the alarm, they might have thought themselves safe, at least for the time being.

His assumptions had proven correct, but the fight had been a tough one. They had been forced to leave the horses behind and enter the narrow caves on foot, where the advantage of numbers had been reduced to zero. It had taken them four days to kill the orcs and go through the whole system of caves, ensuring none had been left behind. Four days, thirteen seriously injured and four dead riders. Four husbands who would not return to their families.

* * *

Back in Edoras, tension was tangible.

For Lothíriel, the weeks after Yule had gone by with ups and downs.

The fact that Éomer could be one morning in a good mood, and the next one in a total foul one, was unnerving everybody in Meduseld. It looked as if every morning the entire household would hold the breath until Éomer would say something, revealing whether it was a good day or a bad day.

She knew he was often plagued by his headache and she felt quite sure that his nightmares had never really abandoned him. But he had been putting on an effort at learning how to better deal with kingship, and she had been proud of him. Her and Éomer had been getting alone admirably most of the times and Lothíriel had tried to offer her support also with tasks not directly related to trading. She had helped him with the records and sometimes she had even taken care of the correspondence, sorting out the relevant things for him to read and addressing the rest to the most suitable advisor. In the evening, she would often join him in his study, keeping him company during his otherwise lonely meals and then working silently together, each focused on their own tasks. Sometimes, she would speak to him of Dol Amroth, amusing him with funny tales of her childhood and her brother's mischiefs. He would look at her and listen carefully, but had rarely said anything in response, let alone spoken about himself.

Truth was that ever since Yule, something had started to change. At first, she had dismissed it as a simple infatuation for this man whom both her family and her King held in such great esteem. An honourable, brave man, who cared so deeply for his people and his country that he had never hesitated to put their welfare before his own. But there was more to it. He had a ready wit and a brilliant sense of humour, but he was also a sensitive man. Something that can be either a blessing or a curse, depending on the circumstances. And given what she knew of his life, she rather suspected the latter. Sometimes, she could feel a melancholy transpiring from him, which always left her brooding about how hard it must have been for him to go through all the tragic events of his life, through war, through a world made of violence and darkness. For behind that stern façade he would often wear, she knew there was a man who felt the world, with its goods and evils, deeper than the most. And yet, he had always kept fighting, he had never surrounded. He might have struggled, but he had never given up. There was this feeling of intensity surrounding him, his personality, which was constantly luring her, telling her that he was a man like no other.

She had tried to convince herself that she simply cared for him, but she knew that the truth was another, that despite all her efforts, she was inexorably falling for him.

It didn't even matter that she knew it to be a lost cause, nor that she knew Aefre had been a constant nocturnal presence in Meduseld.

In more than one occasion she had seen her and Maegwen glaring at each other but she hadn't managed to find out more about why the two women despised each other so. However, what was absolutely clear, was that Aefre despised her even more. As such, she had found herself agreeing to the general common belief that despite what Aefre claimed, she had indeed deeper feelings for Éomer. Clearly unreciprocated.

The fact that Lothíriel had taken to spend time together with Maegwen and Holdwyn, joining them in their visits to the market and occasionally on a few short rides around Edoras, hadn't helped either. It seemed as if Aefre had assumed that they were spending their time plotting against her and her relationship with Éomer, and so her scorn had soon started to include Holdwyn as well, who really had nothing to do with it.

It was ironic: for all Aefre's scorn, the woman hadn't actually realized how their situation was awfully similar and equally hopeless.

She had never spoken about it with Gamling, but on the few occasions when Aefre's name had been incidentally mentioned in his presence -or Birthwyn's one, for the matter-, it had been impossible not to notice his uneasiness. She had the feeling that there was more about the whole thing than she actually knew but unwilling to meddle, she had never pressed the topic.

Lothíriel sighed and looked pensively out of the window.

That day, was the eleventh day since Éomer had ridden away from Edoras together with his Éored. And no matter how packed with duties her days were, he was constantly filling her thoughts.

 _Eleven days…I hope that he is fine, that they all are._

A knock on the door relieved her from her thoughts and she turned to see Holdwyn entering the library, carrying a tray with lunch for the two of them. Lothíriel smiled at the girl, glad for the company. Even though she had not asked her again, she was more and more convinced that the girl had fallen in love with somebody. And she was rather sure that the problem wasn't that the man in question did not return her feelings. In fact, she doubted the man even knew about them.

She looked at the young maid but before she could even start approaching the subject, the clear sound of a horn vibrated through Meduseld. _Éomer!_

The lunch immediately forgotten, she rushed outside the library and run down the corridor without a second thought. She took a shortcut by turning left into a narrow aisle but in doing so, she blindly crashed against somebody.

"Gamling! They are back!".

The man gave her a smile: "Yes, Lothíriel. Éomer's banner has been spotted, they will be here in half an hour or so, for they seem to be proceeding slowly".

Lothíriel sighed in relief for she knew that if Éomer's banner had been spotted, it meant he was fine. But she also understood what the reason for proceeding slow would be: "I will look for Birthwyn and see that the healers are alerted!".

However, as to be expected, the housekeeper had the situation firmly under control and told her that there was nothing she could help with, at least not until the party would arrive.

Resigned, Lothíriel went out. It was a freezing, grey afternoon. She didn't have her cloak with her as she hadn't expected to be outside, but stood there nonetheless, her eyes fixed on the horizon, on the barely discernible shape of a group of riders approaching the city.

Her hands clasped together, she observed them getting closer: she didn't know if it was the tension and the anticipation, but it felt as if they were moving agonizingly slow and she found herself almost holding her breath as they finally got closer.

 _They are almost at the gate!_ She started to nervously pace up and down the terrace, her eyes fixed on the corner from which she knew they would have come into sight.

"Béma, girl! Why don't you have a cloak? You will catch your death here!".

Birthwyn stepped outside Meduseld closely followed by Maegwen, who was holding a tray with the traditional welcoming cups. In the absence of a Queen or any other female relative, it fell on the housekeeper to greet the King back to Meduseld. And as they had already done when the group had left Edoras, Lothíriel took hold of the tray and stood next to Birthwyn, half step behind, forcing herself to keep still and stop wearing a hole in the terrace.

Ages seemed to pass before the Éored finally came into view and Lothíriel was only vaguely aware of her surroundings, of Heruwyn's relief upon spotting Éothain, of the cries of joy of mothers, wives, children, welcoming back their men. She searched the crowd and once she had found him, she could not tear her eyes away from Éomer.

He dismounted Firefoot and stiffly walked up the stairs, quickly emptying his cup: "We have eleven injured who will need the care of the healers", he stated in a flat tone, without even acknowledging any of the presents, let alone her.

"The healers are already here, Éomer King. Rooms and bedrolls have been prepared and a hot meal will be served shortly", Birthwyn answered.

"Good. I must speak to the families of the fallen riders. I will be back to check on the injured ones later". And with that, he turned and walked back, moving purposefully through the crowd.

 _Oh, Éomer._

She would have kept standing there, numbly staring at the corner behind which he had disappeared, hadn't Birthwyn taken her by the elbow and ushered her inside, instructing her to support the healers and help with whatever they might need. She did as bid but she had no skill nor talent in the field of healing, and so she soon found herself boiling linens and serving warm soup to the riders. A couple of them had appeared to be more seriously injured and for a while, she feared that the number of casualties might have yet risen. But after long hours of relentless work, the healers finally confirmed that none of them was in life danger and they all sighed in relief.

There were a couple of riders who hailed from the Hornburg and had no family in Edoras. And so Lothíriel spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening sitting by their side, keeping them company, trying to lift their mind off their injuries and hoping that the pain killers the healers had given them, would soon start to make effect. For the whole time, she kept an eye on the doors of the Great Hall, eagerly waiting for Éomer to come back. She had been informed about what had happened to the village and that six of his men had died, but while this was surely not the first time it had happened, she feared how he would cope with this umpteenth tragedy.

Night slowly descended upon them and the Hall grew quiet and silent. The riders who had been in condition to go back home had long left Meduseld, while the others rested on their bedrolls in what seemed to be a decently peaceful sleep. The refugees had also retired, as well as most of the maids and healers: only one of them had stayed behind to keep an eye on their patients during the night.

When Birthwyn approached her to tell her she should go sleeping, she threw a last glance at the doors of Meduseld, but there was still no sign of him.

She bid goodnight to the housekeeper but almost on their own volition, her legs brought her to Éomer's study instead of her chamber: hoping that maybe he would pass by before retiring, she quietly sat on the same chair on which she had spent so many evenings. The picture of Éomer's haunted expression fresh in her mind, she sunk deeper into the chair, feeling ever so sad, so cold.

* * *

That evening, five times Éomer had knocked on doors. Five times he had looked into knowingly eyes. Five times he had stepped into silent houses. Five times he had told what everybody already knew. Five times he had looked to wives, children, parents, crumbling at his words. Five times he had found himself with no right words to say, with no appropriate support to offer, with no power to set things right.

As he stepped out of the fifth house, he found himself barely able to walk, his whole skull pulsing, a pain like a thousand knives had been poked through it. He wasn't even sure how he had made it to Meduseld, for he felt like he could barely distinguish up from down. He stumbled a couple of times while climbing the stairs, his guts turning. He hauled himself through the Hall, the thought of his injured riders suddenly coming up to him. But they would have to wait, for there was yet another family who had to be informed that a beloved husband and father would not come back.

He dragged himself through empty and dark corridors. _I have to write them a letter._

He proceeded slowly, dragging one feet after the other. He pushed a fist to his head, wishing for it to be silent, to be quiet. His guts clenched again and a wave of nausea shot through his body. He felt his knees close to giving way and leant with one arm against the wall.

He could see the door, he could almost touch the knot. He thought his head would just explode and wished for it to be sooner rather than later. Feeling like he was about to retch, he kneeled and leaned forward.

Through closed eyes, he sensed a crack of light and suddenly, a cold hand was pressing on his forehead, another holding back his hair.

After he had emptied his stomach of what small content was there, he sat back on his heels and tried to take some deep breaths. His head seemed to clear up, as if retching had relieved the pressure inside his skull, and he dared opening his eyes. Lothíriel was kneeling next to him, still holding his hair, one hand on his shoulder and a sorrowful expression in her grey eyes.

"Can you walk?".

Éomer nodded and once he had finally made it to his study, he heavily fell in his chair. Lothíriel sat on the other side of his desk, hugging her knees to her chest, exactly like she had done that night at the Hornburg. As she saw him looking at her, she carefully passed him a mug of water from which he gratefully drank.

"They killed them all. The village, there was nothing left to be saved. We hunted them down one by one, but I lost four good men in the fight and two more on the ride back. The family of one of them, they... they live in Aldburg, I-… I have to write them a letter…", he scrabbled through the papers on his desk, looking for a blank one, searching for the quill. Not finding any of them, he snapped up from his chair and moved to the shelfs, frantically looking around. A couple of books fell on the ground and he threw aside some papers, rummaging impatiently through other parchments.

But then, suddenly, he stopped.

Lothíriel's arms circled him, her body pressed against his, her head resting against his back. She did not speak but held him tight, with a strength that seemed almost unnatural for somebody so small. Éomer froze and he leant with one arm on the shelf, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, feeling his self-control dangerously slipping away.

He could hear Lothíriel's breath, he could feel her chest rhythmically expanding against his back and he tried to focus on it, to follow her lead, to concentrate on the feeling of her lean body pressed against his, of her small hands clenching at the front of his tunic.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed so, but as he gradually felt more in control of himself, he slowly turned.

Lothíriel released him and took a half step back.

Her own eyes were watery and Éomer could not help but raising a hand to her cheek in a light, tender caress. Her skin was soft and smooth and her eyes widened at the touch. But she did not shirk from it, instead covering his hand with one of her own, leaning against his callous hand as a shiver went through her body. He looked deeply into her big grey eyes and the question that had long lingered in his mind, came up to him: "That day, in the Council. Why? I know you agreed with them and yet…".

The spell was suddenly broken as Lothíriel lowered her eyes and hastily took a further step back, fidgeting nervously with her fingers as if abruptly feeling very uncomfortable. She sat down in the chair and hesitated, trying to collect her thoughts: "I did agree with your advisors. Gamling gave me a piece of his mind later that day. He was furious, he said that I did not understand what would have happened if you had not returned. He did not speak to me for two days, can you believe that?".

She sighed, almost frustrated, as if she was struggling to find the right words, which was something rather unusual for her: "I don't know how to explain it, Éomer. I know you are struggling with your role as King and I know you doubt yourself. But I don't think you have ever doubted yourself as a rider or as a Marshall. I was afraid that…that if you had stayed behind, and things had gone ill, you would have not been able to forgive yourself. That you would have thought that if you had ridden yourself, maybe you could have reached the village quicker, saved the life of your men…everybody seemed afraid that we could have lost you in the fight, and I was as well, Valar knows if I was. Just…I was even more afraid that we could have lost you even if you had stayed behind".

Éomer felt a lump in his throat and stared out of the window, at the darkness.

As a Marshall, he had lost many men. But it had never felt like it did now. As a leader of an Éored going into battle, he had always known death to be a possible outcome for him and his men. All of them knew it. And no matter the anger for every lost life, for every fallen rider, no matter how heart-breaking speaking to their families, he had coped with it. He had always felt responsible for his men but he had never felt guilty for their demise, as if it was all part of a game. A terrible game they had no choice but playing, trying to do their best.

Things had changed with kingship, for he had started to consider part of his duty not only to stop those deaths, but even to prevent the circumstances that would have led to them. He had unconsciously refused the idea that it would have been impossible to prevent all of those circumstances to take place. Because they were part of life, because new enemies would always show up, because he could only do his best and live with the consequences.

He looked back to Lothíriel and she gave him a shaky smile: "I make no sense, I know".

"No, no, Lothíriel. You make an awful lot of sense…I guess I haven't been making good use of the advices you gave me at the Hornburg, have I?". He gave her a bitter smile but Lothíriel snapped, reaching for his hand from across the desk.

"Don't say that, Éomer! I know how hard you have been trying to better cope with your role and trust me that everybody in Meduseld have seen the results!".

"You mean to say that I have not been so unbearably grumpy?".

"Well, not always at least!", Lothíriel said, trying to give him a mischievous look.

He knew it to be an understatement at best, but chuckled nonetheless, holding her small, delicate hand, into his: "Béma, Lothíriel, you are freezing!". Her hand was like an ice block and looking at her, he realized she was slightly shaking: "How long have you been outside?".

She blushed, hastily retreating her hand: "N-not long. When I heard the horns, I asked Birthwyn if she needed help but she declined and so I went outside to wait for you to arrive. I did not think that I didn't have my cloak with me…".

"You mean to say that when we arrived, you had been out for almost an hour without even a cloak?".

"I-I don't know, but it didn't feel so cold!".

"Béma, Birthwyn will have my head. Go to bed Lothíriel, I will find somebody to bring you a warm tea".

She looked at him through narrowed eyes and he thought it wise to reformulate his last statement: "Peace, Lothíriel. I would not want to have you sick on my behalf. Would you please go to your room and try to stay warm? Look, I will retire myself, ok?".

* * *

Sure enough, the following morning Lothíriel woke up with a high fever, running nose and sore throat.

Birthwyn fussed without an end, admonishing her for her silly behaviour while actually playing the perfect mother hen. She personally brought her every meal, ensured she was taking all her medicaments and shooed visitors out whenever she deemed it necessary. Poor Gamling had found himself being constantly reprimanded for bothering her with work related matters and on one occasion, Birthwyn had practically shoved him out of the room and shut the door on his nose. She would have laughed, if the attempt hadn't resulted in a fit of cough which, in turn, had earned her a scolding as well.

In the end, it took her three full days to recover and start attending again to her duties. Three days during which she had had more than enough time to brood over and over about her last encounter with Éomer.

That night, when he had started to frantically rummage through his papers, he had looked so besides himself that she had almost been afraid that he had lost his mind. Fear and instinct had told her to reach for him and she couldn't get out of her head the look in his eyes as he had tenderly touched her cheek. For a moment, she had almost thought he would have kissed her. But he didn't, of course.

Lothíriel sighed and looked at her reflex in the mirror, trying to shake herself from that pointless brooding. Finally recovered from her cold, she was more eager than ever to resume her role and put an end to that unnerving idleness.

Andes was gently brushing and plaiting her hair and, as it had been customary over the past weeks, she asked her about how the various negotiations were going: the girl had been more and more interested in the topic and sometimes Lothíriel felt sorry that she couldn't tell her that much.

"You know, Andes, I was thinking: once we are back in Minas Tirith, would you like to start coming with me when I visit merchants? Erchirion will be taking care of the main deals, but I hope he will leave me handling some minor negotiations. I was thinking that you might like to join me, to learn more. Who knows: maybe it will come handy once you marry that man of yours!".

Lothíriel looked at Andes through the mirror but the girl had a strange expression on her face, almost sad and sour at the same time. She immediately turned to look directly at her: "Andes, is everything alright? Any problem with your betrothed?".

Andes shook her head, resuming working her hair and attempting a small smile: "No, my Lady. Everything is fine".

"Are you sure?".

"Yes, of course. I am just missing him, that's all. You offer is most gracious, my Lady. I would be very happy of coming with you".

Andes gave her a more convincing smile and Lothíriel relaxed: "That's settled, then!".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** ah well, you weren't expecting things to go smooth and easy, were you? But hopefully, we seem to be heading in the right direction! I hope you liked the chapter, even though it was quite an introspective one. More action is on the way, I promise!

 _AHealing Renaissance_ : yes, exactly my point. I hate when characters go from one opposite to the other in just one second and you are left wondering: "Wait, what did just happen?". I hope I am managing to make it a bit more realistic this way! That's also why I have let a month passed between the events of the last chapter and this one.

 _MissCallaLilly:_ ah, hopes she has in large amounts, I'd say illusions as well!

 _Rubandepluie:_ well, let's just say it's slowly unfolding and pieces are about to click into place. I am writing the 19th chapter at the moment and if I have to make a guess, I'd say the whole story will be about 35 to 40 chapters or so. Glad you are still enjoying and reviewing it, for I am definitely having a lot of fun at writing it! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 _Edoras, 21_ _st_ _February, 3020_

Meduseld was asleep and Andes had already retired since an hour or so, when Lothíriel started to set the _fox and geese_ board on the desk of her room.

It had been their little secret for the past month and a half. Shortly after Yule, one evening, she had found Gamling and Birthwyn in the library, playing the game, unknown to her until that moment. As curious as ever, she had asked them to teach her how to play. Gamling was a master at it but Birthwyn was no less than him, and Lothíriel hadn't managed to beat them that day. Stubbornly, she had refused giving up and so it had become their secret nocturnal activity, once or twice a week at least. However, since Éomer was often occupying the library at evening and since the Hall was overcrowded, they had been forced to move their _fox and geese_ meetings to her cosy, warm room. Birthwyn would normally bring something to drink and, more often than not, they would play until well past midnight, laughing and entertaining each other with stories of their lands, of their life.

Lothíriel was still arranging the pieces when she heard the door opening behind her. Since there had been no knock, she assumed it to be Birthwyn.

"Birthwyn, I see you managed to join us earlier th…", but the words died in her throat as she turned, for it wasn't the housekeeper standing in front of her. It was a tall, broad man, wearing a Rohirric cloak, his face hooded. Too tall to be Gamling, he stepped in the room and closed the door behind him. Lothíriel stared at him, not fully realizing the situation, expecting from one moment to the other to recognize the hidden face. It was only when he pulled out a long knife from under the cloak, that reality drawn on her.

The room was small, there wasn't much space to run to, and the man stood between her and the door, blocking the only escape route. Lothíriel took a step on the side, trying to put the desk between them, trying to gain some time. But the man moved quickly and it all felt so unreal, that it took her a moment before doing the most obvious thing: screaming. Her cry was short lived, as her assailant grabbed her by the hair, slamming her head against the surface of the desk. The white geese pawns scattering on the floor was the last thing Lothíriel saw, before a searing pain blinded her vision.

Bumping into one of the chairs, she fell on the floor. She perceived a shadow falling on her and instinctively tried to crawl away, panting. Her vision was slowly coming back, but she could not focus, everything around her seemed blurry and she could feel warm blood drenching the right side of her face. The man grabbed her again from the hair, forcing her head back and exposing her throat, when suddenly she heard the door being slammed open.

"Lothíriel!". _Gamling!_

Her assailant abruptly released her and she hit the floor, cracking her bottom lip. She pushed herself up on her elbows, trying to ignore the pain in her head, managing with an almost unbearable effort to get on her knees.

"Guards!". Gamling's cry pierced the silence of Meduseld and Lothíriel hoped that somebody, anybody, had heard it.

The hooded man jumped at him without further hesitation, swinging his knife, trying to get him on his chest first, on his throat then, moving smoothly and with confidence, incredibly fast for a man of his stature. Gamling avoided the strokes, trying to circle around him to get on her side, but the other would not let him. He kept pressing him on and on and any attempt of Gamling to grab hold of his armed hand failed. She cringed when the assailant managed to deliver a deep cut on his thigh: Gamling's breath was laboured, sweat tickled from his face, and now he limped badly. Even to her inexpert eyes, she knew he could not hold much longer, not without a weapon to keep the other at bay.

Suddenly, she remembered: her dagger!

Frantically, she looked around and saw her boots standing only a few feet from her. Moving on all fours she reached them and turned upside down the right one, her dagger falling on the floor with a hollow sound. She turned, hoping she would be able to somehow pass it to Gamling, but the hooded man was still standing between them and she could not even get a glimpse of her friend's face.

Lothíriel looked down to her own trembling hand. She knew what she had to do, but was terribly afraid to do it. Afraid she wouldn't even be able to stand. Afraid she would miss the target. Afraid she would hit Gamling instead. She turned upon hearing him screaming, blood staining now his left side. _I must do it! I can't watch him dying while trying to protect me!_

Taking a deep breath, she stood up, trying to bring back the memories of those afternoons spent with Elphir on the training grounds of Dol Amroth. Her older brother had been a demanding mentor. After the first session, her arm had been badly shaking from the exertion and the day after she had been barely able to lift the dagger, let alone throw it. But she had slowly strengthened and after days and days during which the dagger had always fallen short, she had finally started to hit the target. After some weeks, her aim had become reliable. She might not have hit the exact centre of the target each and every time, but she had never missed it either.

Lothíriel felt the weight of the dagger in her hand and when she looked up, she realized the bulk of the hooded man completely hid Gamling from her vision. _Now!_

The dagger flew and time seemed to slow down as she looked at it crossing the small room. When it stabbed the man precisely between his shoulders' blades, Lothíriel could hardly believe her eyes. He howled, arching his back, giving Gamling the opening he had needed.

For one moment, Lothíriel thought that they had done it. That Gamling would have disarmed the man, taken his knife, guards would have come and everything would have been over. Instead, she heard a cry, and she would have thought it to be coming from the assailant, if the voice hadn't sounded so terribly familiar. Unable to move, she stared as both the men went on their knees, Gamling falling on his side. He was looking at her, his eyes bulged, blood gushing from his mouth. Lothíriel thought he was trying to tell her something, but only burping sounds came out, as the colour quickly drained from his face and his movements stilled.

Slowly, Lothíriel's eyes drifted upwards, to the figure standing behind him. And immediately, the world around her started to spin, her knees gave way and she crumbled to the ground. _No!_

"You have never known when to give up, have you?".

* * *

Éomer had been fast asleep, when something woke him up.

His eyes snapped open and he sat up on the bed, an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked around: Aefre was still sleeping and Meduseld seemed as quiet as ever. He swung his legs down, wondering if hadn't been a dream to wake him up. He took a deep breath and was about to go back lying, when a scream echoed through the corridors.

"Guards!".

Éomer immediately jumped up, looking around for his breeches.

"Here, Éomer!". Aefre had also woken up and he grabbed the clothing, pulling it on as he already strode towards the door, Gútwinë held firmly in his right hand. He stepped outside the room and hesitated: where had the scream come from? He tried to sharpen his ears for further sounds, but heard none. Running, he made for the Great Hall and as he turned around a corner, he spotted four guards sprinting at the far end of the corridor. He rushed after them, trusting they had located where the cry had come from. He followed them, corridor after corridor, corner after corner, fear growing as he realized where they were headed. The western wing. _Lothíriel!_

He tried desperately to gain ground, but at every corner his bare feet would slip on the cold floor and he barely managed to keep himself from falling, crashing against every wall, cursing under his breath. Behind him, he heard the voices and the footsteps of more guards, but he kept his focus on those in front of him. His suspects seemed to find confirmation at every turn and when he finally made it to the corridor where Lothíriel's room was located, he saw the guard at the front of the group pushing open the door to her room. When his face came into light, he recognized him as Ceorl, one of the best riders in his whole Éored.

As Éomer covered the distance that separated him from them, he saw Ceorl's shocked expression, saw him grinding his teeth and trusting his spear forward in one smooth, purposeful movement, followed by the sound of a gurgle. A feminine gurgle. A thousand of different scenarios passed in front of his eyes in just a few instants, all ending with the image of Lothíriel, staring accusingly at him, Ceorl's spear protruding from her chest.

By the time he had reached them, the guards had stilled, Ceorl still holding on his spear, one leg in front of the other, as if frozen on the spot. He pushed them aside, a sense of foreboding growing into him, as the man released the grab on his weapon. Éomer followed the length of the spear, forward, forward, until his eyes were met with the sight of a grey gown, a stain of blood steadily growing on it. With horror, he raised his eyes on the upper back of the woman, on her shoulders, on her neck, on her dark brown hair. _What?_

Andes stood on her knees, head bended down, holding with her hands the spear protruding from her stomach, mumbling something he could not quite understand. He only managed to catch a couple of words. _Known._ _Give up_.

All his attempts at trying to make sense of the scene in front of his eyes died the moment he saw Lothíriel, her face covered in blood, crawling towards something, also mumbling some unintelligible words. Only then he noticed the two other still forms lying on the ground. A man with a Rohirric cloak and unusual dark hair, a long knife in his hand. And in front of him, a man lay on his side, his back to Éomer, wearing a typical Rohirric tunic, with awfully familiar reddish hair, soaking in a pool of dark, dense blood, expanding around his head. He recognized now the words on Lothíriel's lips: Gamling.

A horrified gasp came from his right and he realized Birthwyn was on his side, pale as a sheet, her hands covering her mouth, eyes wide, tears already prickling.

He walked around the now still form of Andes and the unknown man, only catching a quick glance of a weapon in his back. Slipping on the slimy pool of blood, soaking wet her gown, Lothíriel had managed to reach Gamling's body and was now cradling him to her chest, sobbing into his hair.

How could have something like that happened? Gamling, his most trusted advisor, one of his best and oldest friend, lying in his own blood. _His_ Princess despairing over him, bleeding profusely from a gash on her head. How could have this happened in Meduseld, in her room, where she should have been the safest? So many times over the past weeks she had been a light in the darkness. And where had _he_ been while she had needed him?

He kneeled behind her, feeling his heart breaking at the sight in front of him. Birthwyn and Ceorl kneeled on the other side and gave him a quick nod. Circling Lothíriel with his own arms, he took a gentle but firm hold of her wrists: "He is gone, Lothíriel".

She tried to shake him away, tightening her arms around Gamling, completely hiding her face in his hair.

"Lothíriel, please. Birthwyn and Ceorl will take good care of him, but I need to know you are not seriously harmed. Can you do that for me?".

She did not answer, only kept cradling, so Éomer tried again to pull her wrists. This time she let him do it, slowly releasing Gamling into Ceorl's arms. Éomer pulled her back to him and held her to his chest. Carefully, he lifted her in his own arms, willing to take her out of that cursed chamber as soon as possible.

"Bring her to my room, Éomer. I have already sent for the healer. I will be there shortly", Birthwyn whispered to him, while still helping Ceorl.

He nodded over his shoulder and stepped out of the room. More guards and servants had come, but he did not spare them a look as he started to walk towards the Hall and towards Birthwyn's room. He looked down at the small form of Lothíriel in his arms and his chest tightened with the overwhelming need to protect her, to shield her from any further horror, the sudden realization that he cared for this slip of a Princess more than he had ever dared to admit. Since that night at the Hornburg, she had unconsciously but steadily conquered a place not only in Meduseld, but in his heart too. Everytime she had offered him her advice or her help, every evening she had spent sitting in his study, working on her own things but refusing to allow him to shut out the rest of the world, everytime she had told him stories of her childhood, trying to lift his mood and keep his mind away from his duties even if just for a few minutes, never expecting anything in return.

He realized she was shaking and would have liked to offer her something to warm up, but alas he was almost naked, walking around Meduseld in the middle of the night, only his breeches on, a blood covered Princess in his arms. He hurried to Birthwyn's room and arrived at the door together with Aldor, Meduseld's healer. The old man held the door open for him and signalled him to lie Lothíriel on the bed.

Birthwyn's room was close to the kitchens and very small, a lively fire keeping it nicely warm. He pulled the bedcovers but Aldor stopped him: "No, my Lord. I first need to check her for other injuries and we need to change her into clean clothes".

He nodded and reluctantly lowered Lothíriel down on the bed. She did not complain, barely reacted at all. She just stayed there, her shoulders hanging, her eyes on the floor. He wasn't even sure that she realized they were there.

He kneeled in front of her, holding her hands in her lap, searching her eyes: "It's not all her blood, Aldor, she…".

"I guessed as much, my Lord. The cut on her head has stopped bleeding but it's deep and it will need to be stitched".

As he spoke, Maegwen entered the room, carrying a tray with steaming cups on one hand and a pile of fresh linens on the other. Birthwyn came in after her, wearing an apron in an attempt to cover the blood staining her clothes and with a gown hanging from her right arm: "You need to go, Éomer King. You cannot stay in here while Aldor treats her. I will call you as soon as we are done, on that you can count".

His first instinct was to refuse, to say that no, he would not go. Curse propriety, he would stay and help them, he would not leave her. But Herubrand's head peaked from the open door: "Walda is here as well, Éomer. We will keep guard at the door, she will be safe".

He looked back to Lothíriel: her eyes were still lowered and he tried to call her name. But she was not there, she did not hear him, she did not see him. Éomer sighed and tiredly stood up: "Birthwyn, I will be waiting in my study".

The old housekeeper nodded to him and he was left with nothing to do but leaving the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, he felt the big hand of Herubrand on his shoulder. He looked at the guard and they shared a silent exchange, like they had done the day they had been assaulted on the way to Edoras. He would keep her safe.

* * *

"Tell me what happened, tell me what you saw, Ceorl".

Éomer looked at the rider sitting on the other side of his desk, an eye constantly on the open door, hoping Birthwyn would soon show up.

"Tonight, I was on duty in Meduseld, Éomer King. I was in the Great Hall, when I first heard the Princess screaming. I recognized her voice but I didn't know where her room was and wasn't sure where the cry had come from. I saw Birthwyn rushing out of the kitchens and she pointed me to the western wing. Other guards had arrived and we rushed to the Princess' room. When we arrived, the door was ajar and I pushed it open, and I saw the girl, the maid…".

"Andes", Éomer supplied.

"Yes, Andes. She was striding towards the Princess and held a knife raised in her right hand…".

"I think I know the rest. What about Gamling and the other man?".

"The other man was already dead, but I think Gamling was still moving when we arrived, he must have just been stabbed".

"You think Andes got him?".

Ceorl looked at him straight in the eyes: "Her knife was already dripping blood when we arrived. I have helped carrying Gamling away, Éomer King: he has been stabbed behind his neck. Maybe the girl, Andes, managed to sneak behind him and caught him unaware…".

Éomer sighed, resting his elbows on the desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. Gamling might not have been in his prime anymore, but he was still a valid fighter. How had the girl managed to creep up on him without being noticed?

"What about the other man, Ceorl?".

"I have never seen him. He was wearing one of our cloaks but I doubt he is one of us. He might have stolen it to use it as a disguise. He was still holding a knife in his hand. Similar to the one that Andes had, but longer".

"You think we might find out more through these knives?".

"No, my Lord. Deadly, sharp knives. Decent steel, but nothing fancy, no remarkable handcraft. There will be thousands of them out there".

Ceorl passed him something and Éomer thought it was the man's knife. Instead, he found himself holding Lothíriel's dagger, the unmistakable swan engraved at the top of the hilt: "It was in the man's back, Éomer King".

"This belongs to the Princess…".

"I thought so. Do you think she might have been able to throw it at the man?".

Lothíriel had told Herubrand that Elphir had trained her on how to properly handle a dagger. Would have she been able to aim at a man in the middle of a fight with such deadly precision? He turned the weapon in his fingers. She might have feared for Gamling's life, that might have given her the courage to do it, even though it was a risk.

"Ceorl, how did Gamling manage to arrive there so much earlier than the rest of us?".

"I don't kn…".

" _Fox and geese_ ".

Éomer's head snapped to the door. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had not seen Birthwyn finally appearing. He immediately stood up.

"She is fine, Éomer King. Aldor stitched the cut on her head, but apart from that she is fine, just a few bruises. We have given her something to drink, she won't wake up until morning".

Relief flooded through him and he sunk back into his chair: "Is Aldor sure that she doesn't have a concussion? She seemed..".

"She was in shock and she has yet to speak a word. We will see to that tomorrow, when she wakes up. But she is fine, physically at least".

 _Physically at least_.

"What were you saying, Birthwyn? What about _fox and geese_?".

Birthwyn sighed and sat in the chair next to Ceorl: "Ever since Yule, we have been, that is Lothíriel, Gamling and myself, playing _fox and geese_ at night, a couple of times a week. At first, we played in the library, but when you started to work there in the evening, we moved to her room. I don't think anybody knew. In fact, I'm quite sure about it. We always started to play after everybody else had retired and went on until late in the night".

"So the man had probably expected to find the Princess asleep and did not manage to get to her before she could raise the alarm", Ceorl said.

"And that explains how Gamling had managed to get to her so quickly. He had probably been already on the way when he heard her screaming".

It all made an awful lot of sense as a plan itself. But who wanted her dead? And why? Who was the man who attempted to take her life? And what Andes had to do with it? He had never spoken to the girl and found her to be haughty, constantly keeping herself aloof, never joining the rest of the maids even when her Lady did. But Lothíriel had always spoken of her in an affectionate way and he had had the feeling that she considered her more a friend than a maid.

So, why would she betray her?

* * *

Lothíriel slowly opened her eyes, feeling inexplicably tired and with a sharp pain in her head.

Disoriented, she looked to her left, searching for the window to get a hint of how late it was. The sky was bright and she wondered why had nobody woken her up. Her lips felt dry and she tried to wet them, only to winch in pain the moment she tried to move her bottom lip. She carefully probed it with the tip of her tongue and felt a deep cut, right in the middle of it, the taste of blood filling her mouth. _What has happened?_ _Why does everything hurts so?_ She raised a hand and realized that a bandage covered the right side of her forehead. _Have I fallen, somehow?_

She turned back to the window and noticed that she could not see the mountains. Actually, something felt strange about the room. She tried to look around and once she turned right, she realized that she wasn't alone. Éomer was sitting on a chair, next to her bed, sound asleep. He seemed tired, a frown on his forehead even now that he wasn't awake. His head was bended to one side and she thought he would wake up with a terribly stiff neck. _But what is he doing in my room? My room?_

She looked better around. No, this wasn't her room. Then, where was she?

She tried to recall the events of the evening before. She had had dinner in the Hall with the rest of the household and then she had retired to her room to work a bit longer. Once Meduseld had fallen silent, she had prepared for their _fox and geese_ evening, clearing her desk from all the papers and preparing the board that Gamling had lent her.

An image suddenly formed in her head, of white geese scattering on the ground.

She shut closed her eyes and lay perfectly still, her heart pounding in her chest, as all the events of the evening before flooded through her.

A hooded man in a Rohirric cloak. A long knife. Gamling rushing in, crying her name. Despair at realizing he was being cornered. Her dagger falling from her boot. Distress at understanding what she had to do. Surprise at realizing she had done it. And then…

Lothíriel clenched the sheets in her fists, her breath laboured.

Gamling's shocked expression as he had felt, blood pouring from his mouth. Andes' devilish eyes as she had looked at her. Her own disbelief, the wish for it to be just a nightmare. _You have never known when to give up, have you?_ As she had started to move towards her, a knife raised in her right hand, still dripping of Gamling's blood, she had thought it over.

She had vague memories after that. Andes' eyes bulging as a spear run through her. Her desperate grovelling towards Gamling. Blood. So much blood. Strong arms encircling her and pulling her away. Éomer's arms. He had lifted her and brought her…here?

"Lothíriel?".

She could not prevent a gasp to escape her lips, but did not open her eyes. She kept them shut, turning her head to the other direction, as if in that way she could refuse acknowledging the images in her mind, acknowledging Andes' betrayal, Gamling's death. As if in that way, she could pretend they were both alive and well. Andes would come to wake her up, would braid her hair, and Gamling would be sitting next to her in the Council.

She sobbed, tears prickling from her eyes and suddenly there were hands lifting her by the shoulders, arms gently encircling her. Her head throbbed, protesting at the movement, but she allowed to be drawn into Éomer's warm embrace, hiding her face between his shoulder and his neck, shaking in despair. She didn't know for how long they stayed like that, for how long she cried. She only knew that at some point, she felt too weak to cry any longer. She just leaned onto Éomer, her eyes still closed, his strong arms around her, his cheek resting on her head, cradled by the rhythm of his breathing and the beating of his heart.

When Éomer eventually moved and released her, she felt his hands cupping her face, felt his breath on her cheeks: "Lothíriel, open your eyes, please", he asked her, in a pleading tone.

Slowly, she did as bid. Tears were still blurring her vision and it took her a moment before she was able to focus. Éomer's face was only a few inches from hers and he gave her a small smile as he was finally able to stare into her eyes. She shivered at the look in his own dark eyes, unable to look away, and she might have cried again at the intensity she saw in them, if only she had had any energy left.

"Lothíriel, would you speak to me?".

Her head hurt terribly, she could still feel the taste of blood in her mouth and her throat was so dry she wasn't even sure she would have been able to say anything. But he was looking at her with such concern that she tried anyway: "I…I am fine, I think", she managed to say in a small voice that sounded stranger even to her own ears.

"There is my Princess", Éomer smiled at her, hands still cupping her face.

She flew her arms around his neck, holding tight to him, her breath coming in gasps again, overwhelmed by the situation, by the memories of the night before, by the pain in her head, by Éomer's care. He gently rubbed her back, pulling her closer until she was almost sitting in his lap, when she heard a light knock on the door.

"Éomer King, Aldor is here", Herubrand's voice came from the other side.

Éomer did not move at first, keeping stroking her back. When he released her, a few moments later, he tenderly caressed her cheek, a frown showing again between his eyebrows as his eyes move from her broken lip to her bandaged head.

"I won't risk anything else to happen to you, Lothíriel. Walda and Herubrand are stationed at your door and I will assign you more guards. I will keep you safe, Lothíriel, I…", he hesitated, frowning deeper, roaming his eyes on her as if he was trying to memorize every single detail of her face. But whatever he had wanted to say, he thought better of it.

"Aldor is Meduseld's healer, Lothíriel. He took care of you yesterday and now he needs to check on you, is that alright?". She nodded with her head, not trusting what was left of her voice.

"Let him in, Herubrand".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** don't hate me! I rated the story as _Romance/Angst_ for a reason! I liked a lot this Gamling and his friendship with Lothíriel, even though I explored it more in details only in the first part of the story. However, I had something of the sort in mind since the very beginning. Quite a tough blow for poor Lothíriel, but also an event that will have big, huge implications.

 _MissCallaLilly:_ I suppose we will never know what Gamling would have done, which means all our expectations are on Éomer! ;)

 _AHealingRenaissance:_ and the award goes to…! :) Yes, I tried to drop a couple of hints about Andes: I didn't want it to be too obvious, but at the same time I needed to back up the events of this chapter (and the next ones) with her behaviour in the previous ones. Hopefully I haven't been too explicit and it still came a bit as a surprise! As for Éomer, I think he was/is still only partially realizing the situation with Aefre. But he's been trying to behave good to her and, as mentioned in the previous chapter, he has brought up the topic with her. Sure enough he shall just stop it, but at this point she is as much responsible for her own situation as he is.

 _oreohoho:_ thank you so much! It's great to hear you are enjoying the story and I hope this chapter, as well as the next ones, will live up to the expectations! I'm trying to be regular with my updates (I normally upload a new chapter every Monday) and given that the story is written up to chapter 20, I hope I will manage to finish it while keeping my updating schedule. As an avid fanfic reader, I always appreciate regular updates! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 _Edoras, 22_ _nd_ _February, 3020_

Éomer stared at the empty plate on his desk, desperately looking for a surge of inspiration, for an idea about what to write to Imrahil. How do you tell a father that while under your own roof, somebody had tried to assassinate his only daughter, most probably in collusion with her handmaid?

As the image of Lothíriel crawling towards Gamling, shaking, blood drenching her face, came before his eyes for the umpteenth time, he crumpled the paper in front of him and tossed it into the fire.

Bregdan was supposed to have departed for Minas Tirith three days earlier, but snow had blocked the way. He could have left earlier that morning, but he had told him to wait for another day, hoping that Lothíriel would be feeling up to talk, hopefully drawing some light into an otherwise inexplicable situation. But Birthwyn had reported that Aldor had found her as well as she could have been and that she was probably going to rest for the whole day.

He sighed, taking another parchment. He could not delay informing Imrahil and Aragorn any longer.

"My Lord?". Éomer lifted his eyes and found Maegwen looking hesitantly at him.

"What is it, Maegwen? Is Lothíriel fine?".

"Yes, yes, my Lord!", she hurried to say. "Actually, she insisted that she wanted to get up. We tried to convince her that it wasn't a good idea, but she would hear no reason. She went to her room, my Lord. Herubrand and Walda are with her and so is Birthwyn, but we thought you would have wanted to be informed".

Cursing under his breath, he pushed back his seat and stood up, striding towards the western wing, closely followed by Maegwen. _How can she want to have anything to do with that room?_

When he arrived, he found Herubrand and Walda standing on each side of the door. They gave him a quick nod and let him in.

Lothíriel had changed into one of those Rohirric gowns that he had seen her wearing for the past month and a half, her hair had been freshly braided and the bandage on her head changed. She did not look as pale as when she had awoken in the morning and seemed to be walking around without big problems. She stood in front of her desk, her eyes fixed on it, the fingers of her right hand gently touching the surface.

She made for walking around it but something caught her attention and she dropped on the floor, reaching with her arm for the small gap between the desk and one of her chests. As she managed to grab whatever she had spotted, she helped herself up with a hand on the desk but nevertheless wavered, closing briefly her eyes and leaning on the surface of the table. Afraid she might faint, Éomer hurried to her side, one hand on her back, the other holding her arm. But it seemed to be only a fleeting spell, for she soon opened her eyes, looking down to her hand as she slowly opened her fingers.

A small red pawn, in the shape of a fox.

"Ever since Yule we have been playing, you know? But I have never managed to beat him, never even got close to it". She sighed deeply and closed her hand around the tiny fox: "I guess I'll never be able to do it, now".

She swallowed, her jaw clenched, her small fist almost shaking, and Éomer knew she was trying hard to keep herself from crying again.

She shrugged and put a couple of steps between them, stopping in front of a pair of chests, one piled with parchments on the top of it, before turning back to him. Her eyes were on the floor and he could see the wheels in her head restlessly turning: "I don't understand, Éomer. I have tried to make sense out of what has happened, but I simply don't understand. Why would Andes want me dead? Why did she say those things? Who was that man?".

 _So here we are._ "What things, Lothíriel? What did she tell you?".

" _You have never known when to give up_. But giving up on what? She had been my maid for over a year. My older maid was her aunt and recommended her to me. Andes had been enthusiastic about finally being able to leave her small village in Belfalas and move to Dol Amroth. I have never forced her to do anything she didn't want. On what should I have given up? I was more than ready to leave her behind in Minas Tirith, I would have accepted it gladly, but instead she decided to come to Rohan. _She_ decided!".

"Why would you leave her behind?".

"She has…had a man, in Minas Tirith. She had been reserved about it and never told me who he was. But I had expected her to decline the invite to come to Rohan with me, for I had thought that she would not have wanted to be parted from him". Lothíriel quickly glanced behind her and sat on the top of one of the chests, eyes still on the floor.

"Do you think this man might be involved into this?", he asked her.

She looked up at him and he had his answer before she even continued: "I see no other possibility. She didn't have friends in Dol Amroth, nor in Minas Tirith. The only person she was seeing regularly during our last weeks in Gondor, was this man. I thought her to be insecure about the fresh relationship, but maybe there were other reasons to keep his identity a secret. But this does not help us anyway, for I have no idea who would want me dead".

"I take it you don't believe this mysterious man to be your assailant".

"No, no. She would have reacted different upon seeing him dead. Instead, she was so…so cold, so calm. In fact, I hardly recognized her…".

"What's with the merchants you have met over the last year? Could there be anybody who resents you?".

"No, I don't think so. Nothing out of the ordinary trading, though…", she seemed to hesitate and made for chewing on her bottom lip, winching as she was remembered of the cut.

"Though?", he urged her.

"Since we arrived in Rohan, Andes started to ask me about how the trading was going, if we had been able to close any deal, which merchants we had contacted…at first I thought it strange, for she had never asked before. But then I assumed that she was getting bored here in Rohan and that maybe she had decided to learn more about trading…I never told her more than she would have anyway learned by simply living in Meduseld, I give you my word on that, Éomer!".

He shook his head and sat on the chair by the desk, resting his elbows on his knees: "You need not to tell me, Lothíriel, for I do trust you".

"Her letters. She sent a letter with every courier. Now I understand why…".

"Why she has always been so adamant about delivering the letter at the very last moment", Birthwyn finished the sentence for her.

He shifted his eyes from Lothíriel to the housekeeper, each looking at the other in mutual understanding.

"Yes. She has always claimed that it was so that she could write more about her days in Rohan, but the truth was probably another. She didn't want to risk anybody in Meduseld to read its content", Lothíriel concluded.

That had him snapping up from the chair: "Has Andes given a letter to the last courier?".

Lothíriel nodded at him, looking confused: "Yes, but that was a few days ago…".

"I ordered Bregdan to wait until the conditions of the roads would have improved a bit. And this morning I held him back in the hope of being able to give your father some further details about what has happened".

It took Lothíriel only a fraction of a second to assimilate what he had just told her and then she also snapped up, the quick movement clearly not agreeing with her condition. Éomer and Birthwyn hurried to her side but she made sign that she was ok and raised her grey eyes on him.

"I'll go pick up the letters. Wait for me in my study, Lothíriel".

* * *

Lothíriel felt a wave of nausea raising from her stomach as she read the content of Andes' long letter.

… _I have made contact with your man…we have agreed on a plan to be carried out in a few days…the Princess' deliberate actions at forcing her interests on you will be avenged…in this forgotten land, the only thing that keeps me alive is the dream of the days to come. Of the mornings we will wake up in each other's arms, of the afternoons we will spend watching the sun setting over the Anduin as the ships leave your docks, of the evenings we will spend celebrating your success…If everything goes according to plan, in my next letter I will deliver you happy news and we will be one step closer to be finally reunited…I am counting down the days …my Love…_

She could feel Éomer's dark eyes fixed on her as she stared at the paper, her hands shaking. Eventually, she had to put it down. She tried to calm herself but couldn't. Her nails dug into her palms, while her mind run to the chain of events that had led her to this. The war. Taking over Erchirion's role. Deciding to ensure additional supplies for Dol Amroth. Meeting Gamling on Minas Tirith's wall on a cool autumn's morning. Finding herself speaking to the very same merchant he had spoken to. Spotting the chance to shine a light on her skills. Finding out about Rohan's troubles. Riding to Pelargir and back.

Had she acted hastily? Had she been unreasonable? Had she used her station as a leverage to her own purposes? Was this all her doing?

She brought a hand to her mouth, the other clenching at her stomach. Éomer was immediately by her side, rubbing her back, one hand resting on her knee. He had big hands, strong hands, hardened by a life spent holding onto his horse's reins, onto his sword. She couldn't feel his skin through the thick fabric of her gown but even then, she could tell it was not a soft, smooth hand. A scar run between his thumb and his index finger, witness of a minor battle's injury maybe.

She looked at her own hands, slowly opening her fists, red marks showing on her palms. Delicate, elegant hands, of a Princess who had never known a day of hard work, who had spent her time pampered in her father's palace, caring for petty things and constantly seeking attention. Had it been that, that had brought her to take over Erchirion's role? Had it been that, that had made her so stout to maybe overstep her boundaries?

"Breathe, Lothíriel", Éomer spoke in a soft voice.

"It's him: Lord Arondir", she managed to say.

His hand paused for the split of a second, before resuming his gentle strokes. But she could feel the tension being emanated by his body: "How can you say that?".

"If I have to think of one person who might resent me more than others for having had the worse in a deal, that would be him. And I know for a fact that Andes frequentation with her mysterious man started immediately after I came back from Pelargir, right when Lord Arondir arrived in Minas Tirith to meet Gamling and sign the contract".

"That's a bold assumption, to conclude it was him just because of a fitting timeline. She might have met somebody else, some other merchant…I remember Lord Arondir well enough from the celebrations at the end of the war. He would never want to have anything to do with a maid, not in a romantic way, that for sure".

"There's more, Éomer. Do you remember how we managed to close the deal? I acquired the dock that he so desperately wanted, and sold it back to him at the condition that he would have accepted Rohan's offer for the food provisions".

"And you think that it would be a reason for one of the richest men in Gondor, belonging to one of the most ancient and respected noble families, to try to kill you? You? A Princess? To go as far as to snare your handmaid into a supposed romantic liaison, risk regular correspondence with her and hire a killer? As much as I have always disliked the man, even before he refused our offer with his unreasonable requests, I don't think he would…".

"The dock, Éomer. The dock I bought and sold him back, lies on the mouth of the Anduin, practically looking over the see. His house in Pelargir is right next to it, for they share a border. We did not manage to find out what type of trade he wanted to start, but he was clearly up to something _… the afternoons we will spend watching the sun setting over the Anduin as the ships leave your docks_ …", she grabbed again the letter, pointing at the lines she was talking about, but she could see that Éomer still did not believe her.

"How many houses have a dock, in Pelargir?".

She sighed impatiently: "Many, but they are small docks, for private use. The way she writes, _as the ships leave your docks_ , it must be a bigger facility, Éomer…". She stopped herself, breathing deeply. Losing her temper would not help her convincing him. And all his objections were sensible but somehow, she knew it, for too many pieces were suddenly clicking together.

Lord Arondir had not wanted to sell to Rohan and for a man of business like him, that could only mean that he had a better buyer. A better buyer, or somebody he had already promised the stocks to, somebody he did not want to cross. She had no idea who this somebody could be, but she had forced Lord Arondir to give up, presenting him with the choice: either the food provisions or the dock. Dock that both her and Faramir had understood to be of paramount importance for him. They had thought his wealth to be faltering, perhaps as a consequence of the long war, and that the dock was the key to allow him to keep his status and his wealth. A haughty, proud man like him, would not take it lightly to be put in an uncomfortable position, even less at the thought that a woman had cornered him. She might have put him in a difficult situation, and he might have decided to take revenge, promising who knows what to Andes, using her to gain knowledge of what was going on in the Mark, maybe thinking of taking revenge on the Rohirrim as well, since they were the reason she had fought so hard to get the deal closed.

 _Andes._ She had thought her a friend, confided in her. Tricked by her interest in trading, she had offered her to come along in her next trips, so that she could have learned more. And meanwhile, she had been planning to kill her. She had been observing her, thinking of the best moment to do it. She must have known that Herubrand and Walda would have always been next to her outside of Meduseld, and so she had probably advised the killer to do it indoor.

But there had been things that she had not confided to Andes, such as meeting Gamling and Birthwyn in her room, late at night. She didn't know why she had kept it a secret from her. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Andes had never warmed up to the place, nor the people. And that missed confidence had saved her life. And taken Gamling's one in exchange.

Éomer was still kneeling next to her: "Lothíriel, the inn the letter was headed to, do you know anything about the place?".

"Not much. But couriers only reach a few places in Minas Tirith, the city being so big. It's not unusual for common people to agree to have letters addressed to an inn or something of the sort. And if I am right, I doubt Lord Arondir would pick up the letters on his own".

"Still, I will ask your father and Aragorn to speak to this innkeeper, he might have noticed something".

It was wasted time, of that she was sure. You don't put that much at risk without ensuring yourself a proper cover. But maybe… "Éomer, we shall simply send the letter as if nothing has happened! Have the courier going straight to my father and King Elessar to inform them, and then have him delivering the letter to the inn!".

He stood and leant back against the desk, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on hers: "Yes, that I have also thought myself. And Andes spoke in her letter of one _man_ , so whoever is behind this, he does not know the plan has failed".

Yes, maybe she wasn't going to be able to convince Éomer, nor her father. But they might still manage to expose Lord Arondir. It wouldn't bring Gamling back, but it would serve justice and ensure that nobody else had to go through what they had faced.

 _Gamling._

The most gentle, caring man she had ever known. They had been almost inseparable for the past two months. Work had kept them together at day, friendship had bounded them at night.

Her mind went back to the stories he had told her in front of the fire on their way to Pelargir. The flames lighting up his features, emphasizing the lines on his face, as he spoke of Éorl the Young, of Brego, of Aldor the Old. She remembered everything of those stories, as if they had been forged in her mind. Through him, so much of the history of Rohan had flown into her, to the point that she thought she knew more about the Kings of the Mark than about the Stewards of Gondor. Through him, she had started to get to know this strange country, to understand it, to respect it, to like it. Maybe to love it, even. Because despite ups and downs, difficulties and struggles, here she had been accepted for being herself, not just a Princess from Gondor. Nobody had ever questioned her skills, nobody had ever judged her based on her rank. Here, she was simply Lothíriel, a capable Ambassador, who happened to be a Princess.

 _And I'll be damned if all we have achieved is wasted_!

* * *

The sun was already setting behind the White Mountains when she finally handled Éomer her letter for her father. It had taken several attempts and much wasted paper before she had been finally satisfied with the content of her missive.

Bregdan would leave first thing on the morrow and ride as hard as he could to reach Minas Tirith. He would then immediately seek out King Elessar and her father. The content of their letters would inform them of what had happened and instruct them on what to do. If they wanted to have any chance, they needed to be inconspicuous, for Lord Arondir might have ears everywhere. They would have to be discreet while keeping an eye on the inn, waiting for somebody to pick up the letter. And then they would have to follow the person, hoping he would lead them to his employer.

It was a good plan but Lothíriel could not prevent feeling anxious and impatient, for it would take at least two weeks to hear anything back from Minas Tirith. And there wasn't much she could do meanwhile, if not waiting and hoping that the plan had worked out. But what if it didn't? She knew that King Elessar and her father would be as sceptical as Éomer about her belief that Lord Arondir was behind all of this. And she knew that a man like him could not be accused without hard evidence. Needless to say: Andes' letter was no such thing. So what would they do, were their plan to fail?

Lothíriel sighed and wondered how Éomer was able to live with a constant headache. She rested an elbow on his desk and pressed a hand to her forehead. She probably ought to drink Aldor's medicament and go straight to bed, but her mind was restless. She heard Éomer standing up and walking next to her. As he had already done earlier that day, he kneeled next to her and rested a hand on her back: "Has Aldor given you something against the pain?".

"Yes, he has. But I will fall asleep once I drink it and…I don't know, I can't but think that there might be more that I am missing, more that could be done…", she said, keeping the pressure on her forehead. Her heart was pounding in her chest, as if wanting to confirm her state of agitation, and her breath quickened.

"Lothíriel, look at me". Éomer's tone was soft but firm.

She turned towards him, lowering her shaking hands in her lap, trying to calm down. He cupped her neck with one of his big, callous hands, and looked at her straight in the eyes, inhaling and exhaling in long, deep breaths. She followed his lead, breathing in and out, in and out, until she felt the shaking of her hands waning.

"I will ask to have some warm tea brought to us. Meanwhile, I want you to sit by the fire and try to calm down, understood?".

She swallowed and gave him a small nod with her head. Immediately, he helped her standing up and walked her to the small sofa in front of the fireplace. Lothíriel sunk into it and leaned her head back: the heat of the cracking fire enveloped her and she soon felt her muscles relax.

Éomer stepped outside of his study: he spoke in a low voice to the guards and came back in shortly afterwards. It looked like their tea had already been on the way, for he was holding a small tray with two big cups.

* * *

Éomer carefully lowered the tray on the small table in front of the sofa and took place next to Lothíriel.

The cups were still too hot but the aroma of the chamomile immediately started to fill the air. It was a smell that always brought him back to his childhood: whenever he was sick, cold, or simply restless, his mother would bring him a cup of the infusion and lie in the bed next to him, holding him to her chest and singing him a lullaby until he had fallen asleep.

It was a scent of family, of home, of sweet memories. Instinctively, he searched for Lothíriel's hand, their fingers slowly intertwining together.

Tension seemed to slowly wade from her body and when he glanced at her, he saw her dazing off, her eyes closing, her neck tilting on one side as a strand of hair escaped her braid. He gently brought it behind her ear, mindful not to wake her up. There were circles around her eyes and the he could see a hint of blue on the skin around the bandage on her forehead. Her lip was broken and slightly swollen and even though her body had relaxed, there was a frown on her features.

He knew it all too well how it was: to have a bone tired, exhausted body, which at some point can't keep the pace with a troubled mind. How it was to fall in a restless and useless sleep, waking up more tired than the evening before. And he hated to see Lothíriel having to go through it. Through the anguish and the distress. Through the _what if_ and the _why_.

He knew that her belief about Lord Arondir's involvement was simply absurd and could only hope that their plan would work out. Even so, it would take time to know it: it would take time for Bregdan to ride to Minas Tirith in the middle of the winter, it would take time for somebody to pick up Andes' letter, it would take time to tackle and interrogate the person, it would take time for Bregdan to ride back. Optimistically speaking: two weeks. Realistically: at least three.

While he wished Lothíriel would take her time to rest and recover, he suspected that the sooner she would be able to resume her duties, the better it would be for her. However, he knew it was not going to be easy. He feared how she would cope about going through her daily routine without Gamling and suspected that things would have to get worse before eventually get better.

His thumb absentmindedly stroke her small hand in slow circular motions as he thought back of the last months. Of the day she had arrived in Edoras, resembling more a half-drowned cat rather than a Princess. Of the way she had stubbornly -and maybe a bit childishly- taken to prove him wrong. Of how uncomfortable and irritating it had been to face her polite façade in the Council. Of how flabbergasted he had been by her first display of enthusiasm, for it had been such a contrast to the poised Princess who had so confidently confronted him about the Yule's celebrations.

Maybe that was really her distinguishing feature: being contradictory. One moment she was dragging her guards around, excited by Béma knows what, and the next one she was speaking with a wisdom he himself lacked. She could befriend Meduseld's maids and regularly hang out with them, she could spend a day boiling linens and obeying the orders of the healers and the housekeeper, and then turn in the blink of an eye into the perfect epitome of the haughty, graceful Princess.

And that was really what she had come to be for him. Somebody he could laugh with, but also somebody he could speak to when things turned serious.

Not that he had spoken much to her, at least not about himself. And yet, he had come to rely on her: on her straightness and sincerity whenever they were discussing state matters -never mind if it had occasionally led to memorable clashes in the Council. On the reassurance of her presence in his study. On her silly childhood stories, so similar and yet so different from his'. On the awareness that after a _grumpy day,_ he was always in for a merciless session of sharp sarcasm and teasing.

If he thought back of the last two months, there was no single memory that wasn't somehow linked to her and whether it was a positive or a negative memory, it hardly seemed to matter. The visit to the Hornburg and the night she had hesitantly walked into his room. Yule's celebrations and her mortified embarrassment upon finding out how traditions differ between Gondor and Rohan. The ride back from the fight in the cave and the way she had tightly held him. The realization that he needed her advice and the attempt to visit her while she was sick, only to be quite rudely dragged out of her room by his own housekeeper.

It hadn't been the fear of something to happen to a Princess who was living under his protection to fill his heart as he had been running like a half-naked madman through Meduseld's corridors in the middle of the night. It had been the fear of what _he_ would have lost, of what _they_ would have lost, had something happened to her.

How ironic that him, who had spent the last six months continuously mulling and brooding over Rohan's troubles, over his problems with Kingship, had never spared a thought about what Lothíriel had come to mean for him. How silly of him to take her presence for granted. How selfish of him to take what she had to offer, her wisdom, her support, her laughs, without giving anything back.

Éomer pulled Lothíriel closer to him: if anything, the attempt on her life had at least managed to have him finally opening his eyes. And even though things were as uncertain as they could ever be, he felt himself growing a little bit lighter as a new type of resolve spread through him.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

"Éomer King?".

Éomer snorted, moving into a more comfortable position.

"Éomer, wake up".

Slowly, he cracked open an eye, then the other. Light had faded in his study and a shiver run through his body. He tried to turn to the voice but the right part of his body was blocked. He twisted his neck and found Birthwyn looking down at him: "What is it?", he muttered to the housekeeper.

She gave him a disapproving look: "You can sleep wherever you wish, Éomer King, but I'm not letting Lothíriel freeze on this sofa. She needs a proper sleep in a proper bed" she said, nodding to his right.

Turning, he realized why one side of his body had felt blocked: Lothíriel was leaning on his chest, fast asleep, her legs crossed on one of his own, her arms held tight between their bodies, as if attempting to keep the warmth from escaping their embrace.

Somewhen, he must have fallen asleep and their chamomile stood forgotten on the table.

Éomer tightened his arm around Lothíriel and planted a soft kiss on her head, breathing in the scent of her silky hair and not caring one bit about the fact that Birthwyn was standing behind him. Lothíriel shivered and snuggled up closer to him: carefully, he slipped one arm behind her knees and slowly stood up.

When he arrived in Birthwyn's room, he gently lay her down on the bed and pulled the thick blanket over her. He brushed his lips on her temple and whispered her goodnight, before finally leaving the room and moving towards his own bedchamber, more determined than ever to take the first of a long series of steps.

One he had ignored and postponed for too long already.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** when I re-read this chapter before posting, I wasn't very satisfied with it but at the same time, I was a bit at loss as to how improve it. So, for the moment I'll keep it as it is and maybe I'll revise it in the future.

 _ElvishKiwi_ : no reason to say sorry, really! :) As I said, yours was an understandable point of view. I am also deeply fascinated by fantasy books such as LoTR and their heroes, but I am also very fascinated by the human nature, which to my opinion happens to be way more complex (though that doesn't mean there cannot be heroes). This is why, while Tolkien will always hold a special place in my heart, I also love fantasy books with a very different approach (right now I'm reading Joe Abercrombie and his _First Law_ trilogy, which is really great though less _inspirational_ than LoTR). I must say that it pleases me beyond words to hear that you have come to like my story, as it means I have managed to convey the depth of the characters and bring them from disagreeable to likable (or maybe the other way round!). Thank you very much for your review and I hope you will continue enjoying the story!

 _solar1:_ glad to hear it came as a surprise! Plot twists are always needed! ;)

 _MissCallaLilly_ : yes, sneaky Andes! Poor Gamling indeed, I liked him and his friendship with Lothíriel a lot! Let's hope justice will be served!

 _AHealingRenaissance:_ I know, I was also very sad at letting him go! :( Let's see if Lothíriel's suspicions are correct or whether Éomer is right about their absurdity!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _Edoras, 23 February 3020_

Lothíriel looked at her reflex in the mirror.

Aldor had replaced the bandage on her head with a more inconspicuous one and she didn't look that pale anymore. Nevertheless, there were still deep circles around her eyes and she felt tired and dizzy.

The night before, she had awoken in Birthwyn's warm bed, the feeling of Éomer's touch still lingering on her hand. Staring into the darkness, realizing that there was nothing more she could do if not waiting for news from Gondor, she had felt overwhelmed by a bottomless melancholy. Searching blindly on the nightstand, her fingers had found the small fox pawn. She had brought it to her chest and closed her eyes as silent, quiet tears had rolled down her cheeks and soaked the pillow. She had felt into a troubled, short sleep. Every now and then she would awake, blink into the darkness and feel her heart skip a beat, as Gamling's warm smile came before her eyes.

As the first rays of light had filtered into the room, she had tried to shake herself. She had told herself that Gamling would have wanted her to react and so she had tried to stifle her numbness and get up. Somebody had brought her chests into Birthwyn's room and she had rummaged out one of her gowns. It was dyed in the customary Rohan's dark green and her fingers had fiddled impatiently with the laces on her back.

Her head snapped as she heard somebody opening the door but it was just Holdwyn, coming in with a tray with her breakfast: "Good morning, my Lady. Aldor told me that you were awake and I thought that you might want to have something to eat!".

Lothíriel's eyes shifted between the roasted ham, the baked potatoes, the tea. It wasn't the usual breakfast: it was what she had once told Birthwyn to be her favourite food in the Mark. The housekeeper had probably ordered the kitchen to have it cooked, no matter how early. The smell of the ham filled the room and even though she didn't feel hungry at all, her stomach decided to disagree, giving a loud rumble.

Holdwyn gave her a smirk and lowered the tray on the small desk: "I hear you are hungry, good! Come, my Lady, you should eat before it gets cold!". Lothíriel forced a smile on her face and sat at the table, but no matter how much her stomach disagreed with her, she only managed to swallow a few bites before giving up.

"Oh, my Lady! What a mess you have done! Come, I will fix your hair but first let me lace properly your gown, you can't go around like that!".

"It's alright, Holdwyn. I can braid my hair myself, you may go". Lothíriel appreciated the girl's effort, but after everything that had happened, the last thing she wanted was to have another maid. It's not that she expected treason from everybody, simply she didn't want to be continuously surrounded by somebody, to be continuously reminded of those things that Andes would have normally done for her.

"As much as the King might eventually appreciate that dishevelled look", Holdwyn said, her eyes pointing at the dangerously low neckline of her gown, "I doubt he would wish for anybody else to see you so. Come, my Lady, we have spent a lot of time together over the last months. What difference does it make, whether I am also here to help you dressing up?".

Lothíriel was taken aback by her remark and stared at her chest, grabbing the hem of the drees and trying to lift it to its customary position, a blush spreading on her cheeks. After the events of the last days, she wasn't sure where things stood between her and Éomer, but she felt mortified that it seemed to be common knowledge.

"Please, my Lady. We both know that you will need somebody to help you from time to time and I won't let that somebody be anybody else!".

Holdwyn stood in front of her, admonishing her with her index finger, her other hand on her hip and a determined expression on her face. Lothíriel sighed deeply, for if there was one thing she had learnt about Rohirrim, was that they were even more stubborn than herself, and that was saying a lot. As if to prove her right, Holdwyn didn't even let her open her mouth: "Look, my Lady, you remember the ride we had along the Snowbourn, on Yule? You asked me if I had fallen in love with somebody, remember? Well, I will admit you saw it right, and if you accept me as your maid, I will go as far as confessing you who the man is! Just, don't tell it to anybody, ok?".

Lothíriel gave her an unimpressed look as the girl helped her up and turned her in front of the mirror, starting to unlace her gown. _And I have yet to say yes!_

It didn't take her long to be done and then, out of nowhere, she pulled out a brush and had her sitting again in the chair. Holdwyn started to gently brush her hair, giving her a smile through the mirror, and Lothíriel shook disbelievingly her head, the corners of her mouth slightly twitching: "Alright, let's say that I accept your proposal. But I have two request".

"Everything, my Lady!".

"First, just call me Lothíriel. Second: it's Walda, isn't it?", she asked, narrowing her eyes, a satisfied grin on her face.

Holdwyn stopped abruptly and gasped, turning immediately as red as a pepper: "How do you…". Lothíriel could not help and burst out laughing at the shocked expression on the young girl's face. Her eyes were darting on the floor and she was clenching her hands around the brush, stammering something she could not understand.

"Come, Holdwyn, one doesn't need to be a magician to notice it!".

The maid's expression was horrified to say the least and she brought a hand to her chest, the other to her face, unable to form any word. It was quite a theatrical pose, really, which only made the whole situation more hilarious. Lothíriel shook with laughter, holding her stomach, trying not to re-open the cut on her lip while in the middle of an almost hysterical fit of laugh: "S-s-sorry Holdwyn, it's just that…come look at yourself!", she pointed at the glass, trying to catch her breath, tears spilling from her eyes.

Holdwyn turned to the mirror. She blinked once, twice, and then finally laughter bubbled inside her as well: "Oh my, am I so helpless?".

Lothíriel shook her head, trying hard to keep her face straight: "No, no, Holdwyn. I doubt I am the only one who noticed it, but I think I can grant you that _that one,_ is blissfully unaware!" she said, pointing with her thumb at the door.

"Ah, Béma be praised!", Holdwyn sighed in relief.

They looked at each other with wide eyes and burst together into another fit of laughter. Lothíriel brought a hand to cover her eyes while Holdwyn crouched down, leaning with one arm on her knee. Walda muffled voice reached them from the other side of the door: "Lady Lothíriel, is everything alright?". _Oh, Valar!_

As their laughter finally waned Holdwyn straightened up, smoothing her gown and drying her eyes, her cheeks flushed and a few chuckles still escaping her lips: "It's good to see you laughing again, Lothíriel. Gamling wouldn't have wanted for anything else!".

Lothíriel leant into the chair, rolling back her head and closing briefly her eyes. She sighed as she turned to look at the other girl: "I know, Holdwyn. Thank you for cheering me up, I guess I needed it".

* * *

Walda had paled and almost chocked when she had told him that she wanted to go to the stables to visit Bethril and Sparkler. Éomer had probably made it clear that she was supposed to rest and to stay inside Meduseld, but alas he was in the middle of a Council at the moment, and she could hardly interrupt them to inform him of such thing.

She had already decided that from the following day she would have resumed all her duties and was absolutely determined to try to enjoy this day. _Gamling wouldn't have wanted for anything else._

She turned to look at Holdwyn, walking down the stairs next to her. Walda's shift at leading her guard would last until the mid-afternoon, when Herubrand would take over. As such, she had asked her newly acquired maid to accompany her to the stables, hoping that maybe, given the chance to be in each other's company more often, the rider would stop being so clueless. Walda could have had any woman in the whole Rohan, presumably Gondor as well. And he was surely having his share of fun, but he was smart and had a good heart. He reminded her of Amrothos: her handsome, carefree brother, was at the core a thoughtful and sensitive young man. And she was absolutely sure that despite all his dalliances, the day he would meet the right lady, any other woman would stop existing for him.

A pale sun shone on Edoras and, quite unusually, the air was still, not even a gust of wind blowing over the planes. They proceeded towards the Royal Stables, attracting more than one curious stare. People had gotten used to her presence, but probably the news of what had happened had quickly spread through the city. The fact that she was now moving around surrounded by no less than six guards, did not help.

She caught more than one person smiling and greeting her with a small nod of the head. A young girl, no more than three years old, made way through the guards, holding in her small hand a little bunch of pink cyclamens: " _Wes þū hāl, Hl_ ǣ _fdige_ _Lothíriel! Wē wȳscan þē þone āc snelne wirpe!_ ".

Lothíriel's command of Rohirric was quite limited, but she nevertheless understood and accepted gladly the flowers. She kneeled and hugged the girl, causing her cheeks to flush red before she wrapped her small arms around her neck. As soon as she released her, she excitedly run back to her mother, who gave her a big smile.

"They have been very worried for you, Lothíriel", Holdwyn told her as they proceeded down the road.

"Aye, that's true. Heruwyn told me that a lot of people asked her how you were faring. I am sure they are sighing in relief at seeing you up and well, walking through the streets", Walda agreed, before adding in a mumbling tone: "Though, I am not sure the King will, nor I when he finds out!".

"No, I am sure he won't, Walda. I wouldn't want to be in your place when the news reach him!".

"Thank you, Holdwyn!".

The guards joined them in a general chuckle while Lothíriel kept her eyes on the ground. She had long accepted her feelings for Éomer and she knew that ever since he had come back from hunting the orcs, something had passed between them. But she did not know _what_ it was and at the same time, she knew that Aefre was still visiting him at night.

"Good morning, Princess! It's good to see you!". Éobold's strong voice retrieved her from her thoughts: "Have you come to visit Bethril and Sparkler?".

"Good morning, Éobold. Yes, if you don't mind, that is".

"No, no, not at all, my Lady. Bethril is in her box, while I have just sent Folca to bring Sparkler to the paddock for some exercise".

Lothíriel thanked the stable master and entered the sturdy building. Just like he had said, she spotted Sparkler being lead outside: the horse neighed when he recognized her and his trainer stopped, turning to her direction. Folca was a stocky man with broad shoulders and hair of the lightest blonde she had ever seen. Him and Maegwen had been married for almost two years now and over the past two months she had become well acquainted with him. Actually, they had only chatted with each other no more than a couple of times, but Maegwen had spoken a lot about him. Only a few weeks back she had realized that she was with child and the two were beyond happiness.

"Ah, Lady Lothíriel! Maegwen told me that you would have felt better today, but it's good to see you up and around! I was walking Sparkler outside, but I can wait. Maybe you would like to bring him to the paddock, once you have properly greeted each other?".

"Yes, thank you, Folca. I'd like that very much, if it's no trouble for you".

He passed her the reins and shook his head: "Not at all, my Lady. I can train one of the other horses meanwhile. Take your time".

She saw him moving to another box and walking out a young stallion with a dark grey coat, before disappearing through the doors. Holdwyn and her guards were only a couple of steps behind her and she sighed, realizing that this was all the privacy she would have been granted for the next weeks. It was true that she had anyway always had Herubrand and Walda with her, but they had been rather inconspicuous, following a few steps behind her. Now, she would be continuously surrounded, inside and outside Meduseld alike.

"Hello Sparkler. I am sorry I could not come to visit you yesterday". She stroked his muzzle and the horse nuzzled her shoulder, lightly pushing her back: "Right, right, I'll try not to neglect you so, you have my word!".

She was laughing softly, when suddenly a firm voice reached her: "You have quite the nerve to show yourself!".

Aefre appeared at the far end of the stables, walking confidently towards her, a hand on her hip and a resentful smile twitching the corners of her mouth. She heard Holdwyn and the guards moving behind her and even though she raised a hand to stop them, Walda and her maid came nevertheless closer to her.

Sensing the tension and the way she tightly held on his reins, Sparkler snorted and gave her another nuzzle, as if trying to reassure her: "It's alright, Sparkler, it's alright".

"He is not your horse. Haven't you taken enough from us?".

She knew the reason for this woman's scorn, she knew she was jealous of whatever was between her and Éomer and probably thought it to be more than it actually was. But today, she was in no mood to tolerate her glares, her not so subtle insults and remarks.

"What do you want, Aefre?".

The woman snorted, looking at her up and down, a disgusted expression on her face: "You have already costed us much, Princess. Gamling died because of you and yet here you are, walking around as if you owed the place, as if you owed Sparkler!".

"Aefre! How dare you! I…".

Lothíriel grabbed Holdwyn's arm and pulled her back behind her and towards Walda, signalling him to stay there. The man had a dark expression, his teeth were gritted and his hand had instinctively gone to the pommel of his sword, but he nodded and put a hand on Holdwyn's shoulder, effectively silencing her.

Lothíriel took a step towards Aefre and looked at her straight in the eyes, her voice sounding deep but surprisingly calm: "You think I don't know? You think I don't know that Gamling's death is on me? You think I don't know that if it wasn't for him, I would be dead?". She swallowed, trying to keep her voice from shrilling: "I know it all too well, Aefre, and that's a burden I will bring to my grave!".

The other woman laughed sneeringly at her words and even though Lothíriel knew her to be the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, in that moment she looked to her eyes revolting and hideous: "You think anybody cares about the burdens of a spoiled Gondorian? You think _I_ care? I know who you are, Princess. You might have fooled half of Edoras, you might have fooled that stupid old man, but…".

Lothíriel's slap hit her squarely and loudly and for a moment, a heavy silent fell on the stables.

Lothíriel closed her hand in a fist, biting on her cheeks in an attempt to prevent herself from jumping at the woman. Aefre stood still, her neck twisted, holding her cheek and looking incredulous at her. Even Holdwyn and the guards behind her seemed to have been frozen on the spot.

She breathed deeply and when she spoke, her voice had lost all that calmness. It sounded strange to her own ears, almost a growl: "I don't give a damn what you think, Aefre. But do not _ever_ try to speak so of Gamling, do not _ever_ try to disrespect him, or I'll make you regret it, you have my word on that!".

"Are you threatening me?".

Aefre's voice was a shriek and anger flashed bright in her blue eyes, but Lothíriel did not flinch: "What if I am, _Aefre_?". She hadn't even finished pronouncing the woman's name, when everybody around her started simultaneously to move.

Aefre jumped at her, yelling something in Rohirric that she could only assume to be a curse. Holdwyn and Walda cried her name and rushed to her side. The rest of the guards threw themselves forward, in a chorus of rising, alarmed voices. But there was one who reacted more promptly than anybody else, anticipating them all. Head down, Sparkler charged angrily Aefre, throwing her violently on the ground and prancing dangerously close to her legs.

The woman shouted, her eyes wide, backing off from the hoofs as all the other horses in the stable started to neigh and kick in their own boxes. Surprisingly calm, Lothíriel grabbed Sparkler reins with one hand and patted his neck with the other, effectively quieting him.

"You may take it as a warning, Aefre".

* * *

Pulling Sparkler behind her, Lothíriel got out of the stables and turned the corner before allowing herself to stop. The adrenaline waning, she leaned with one hand on the horse's strong neck and closed her eyes, sensing her knees suddenly weak.

A few deep breaths later, feeling slightly better, she looked around herself.

Holdwyn was just a step behind her. She looked torn between concern, sympathy and awe, but her mouth was definitely twitching. Walda and Folca were standing next to her, staring at Sparkler, while the rest of her guards and a few stable boys were spread around, perfectly silent.

"Éomer King will kill me when he gets wind that Sparkler came to your defence quicker than me", Walda broke the silence groaning, shaking resignedly his head, his eyes still on the horse, who gave him an unimpressed look. A small chuckle crossed the rest of the group and it soon turned into a loud laughter, but Walda just kept shaking his head, while Folca stared intently at her, a deep frown between his eyes.

She thought she should have apologized for her behaviour, but the truth was that she didn't want to and that she had meant every last word. And if that meant troubles for herself, then be it!

Déor, one of the guards, came up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile: "You did well, my Lady. We all knew Gamling, we have always had the biggest respect for him and we wouldn't tolerate anybody speaking ill of him".

" _Did well? Did well?_ She did _awesome_ , let me tell you! And _you_ , Sparkler, you are one proud Rohirric horse!", Holdwyn came forward, rubbing vigorously the horse's neck and grinning at her.

* * *

Light outside was already starting to fade when a knock on the door retrieved Éomer from his reading.

He wasn't surprised to see Walda coming in, as he had asked him to report personally at the end of each shift. What he didn't expect was to see Folca coming in after him and closing the door. His eyebrows knitted and he looked back to Walda, who appeared to be clearly uncomfortable.

"What is it?".

Walda shifted in his chair and cleared his voice a couple of times before finally mustering the courage to speak: "The Princess is alright, Éomer King. And you know, she felt much better this morning…".

Éomer narrowed his eyes: "So?".

"So, she decided to have a walk to the stables to visit Sparkler and her mare".

Éomer groaned, rubbing his eyes: "I told her she should have rested, but I swear she can be even more stubborn than Éowyn! It's alright, Walda, no need to be on edge. I think I've had enough encounters with her obstinacy myself".

"Yes, well, that's a relief Éomer King. However, there's more".

He raised his eyebrows, bracing himself for whatever absurdity Lothíriel had managed to come up with: "Care to elaborate, Walda?".

"In the stables, we came upon Aefre…".

Éomer immediately clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, his face turning dark.

The night before, after having brought Lothíriel to Birthwyn's room, he had confronted Aefre. There could not have been any further postponing, not after the events of the last days, and so he had finally told her what he should have told her weeks, if not months earlier. That they had better call off their affair, that he was mortified by the way he had treated her and that he hoped that one day she would have been able to forgive him for having behaved in such a dishonourable, selfish way. That she ought to find a good man, one that would love her and care for her. That that man wasn't him.

He knew he had never made her false promises and he knew that he had always been clear on what the nature of their relationship was. But Birthwyn's words from months earlier had long dug a hole in his head and he was now aware of the many signals that should have warned him that Aefre had deeper feelings and bigger hopes for him, for them. As such, he had not been surprised by her outburst. And he hadn't been surprised that she had pointed at Lothíriel as a cause for their breaking up, that she had shouted against her, for she was right.

Starting from that night at the Hornburg, Lothíriel had slowly retrieved him from the detached state in which he had locked himself. And he had needed to almost lose her, before realizing what she had come to mean for him. But even besides Lothíriel and his feelings for her, he knew he had never loved Aefre and that he would have never loved her, no matter what. She was just a woman, like the dozens who had come before her and who had never been able to stir a deeper interest in him. He had tried to explain her that Lothíriel had no responsibility in their situation, that the fault was his and only his, but he should have anticipated that Aefre wouldn't have given up that easily.

"What happened?", he asked Walda, still wondering about Folca's presence in the room.

"She told her that Gamling's death was her fault. And that she knows who she is, that she won't let herself be fooled like _that stupid old man_ ".

"She said _what_?", Éomer shouted, snapping from his chair and slamming his fists on the desk. A couple of books jumped, the quill rolled and fell on the floor.

Walda swallowed nervously but held his glare: "The Princess slap her when she called Gamling so, Éomer King. She told her that she would not tolerate Gamling to be disrespected and that she will make her regret it, if she does it again. Aefre was furious and she tried to jump at her…".

"I have assigned you as her guard for a reason! Damn it!", Éomer was beside himself and this time Walda winced in his chair.

"She did not get to her, Éomer King", Folca's voice was surprisingly calm and Éomer sat again in his chair, his nostrils flaring.

"When Aefre showed up, the Princess had been walking Sparkler out of the stable. Before we could do anything, when he saw Aefre jumping at her, he immediately charged her down and…", Walda's face was pale and again he swallowed.

"They were all just a step behind the Princess, Éomer King. She was never in danger. Sparkler simply reacted the quickest and protected her, he surprised myself. But the Lady Lothíriel had no problems at calming him down before he could injure Aefre. She went as far as telling her that she should have taken it as a warning, before storming out", Folca came to his support.

Éomer's glare shifted to him: "Is this why you came? To reassure me that my riders are not so helpless?".

"No, my Lord. I came here to talk with you about Aefre".

"And what is that you would like to say, that is not already clear at this point?".

Folca shook his head: "I mean no offence, my Lord, but I don't believe things to be nearly as clear as they need to be. You might think Aefre is acting out of her grief and her jealousy, but is not that simple. She is a hurtful, resentful woman, Éomer King. One of those who cannot bear the idea of being ignored, of being rejected. Once she sets her eyes on a man…well I don't know if it's about love, maybe it is, in her own twisted way, but the point is that it becomes an obsession for her, there is nothing she wouldn't do to have things like she would like them to be, no matter the feelings of the other person. You should not underestimate her, my Lord".

"Would you mind making things even clearer, Folca?", Éomer prompted him, a deep frown on his face.

"When we were younger, before I met Maegwen, me and Aefre had been hanging out. It wasn't anything serious, I…I don't want to sound disrespectful, my Lord, but we were young and just having fun together. There had never been words of love or promises. It went on for a few months, three or four probably, until I met Maegwen and fell in love with her. I thought we could have stayed friends, but Aefre got mad at me. We had a long discussion and I thought we were done after that. But we weren't. You see, my Lord, at first I hadn't told Maegwen about Aefre because…well you know…".

"For Béma's sake, Folca! Just say what you want to say!", Éomer was getting more and more impatient, the whole story sounding too uncomfortably familiar.

"She tried to go behind my back. She tried to befriend Maegwen and turn her against me, hinting that I was used to act as if I was in love, just to take advantage of women. But Maegwen did not fall for it and so Aefre tried to sneak in my house, tried to make it look like it wasn't. But I think Maegwen saw her for who she is earlier than any of us and again, she did not fall for it. For weeks she tormented me, us. She tried to turn us against each other, she went after our family members, our friends. At one point, I started to consider the idea of moving out from Edoras, for she was making our life impossible".

"What happened then?".

"Me and Maegwen had married in the meanwhile and we visited some of her relatives in Aldburg. We spent a couple of months there, thinking about moving in permanently".

"I remember it, I was a Marshal at the time. You were helping in the stables with the training of the new colts".

"Yes, my Lord, that's correct. We went back to Edoras convinced about relocating to Aldburg but surprisingly, we found out that Aefre had meanwhile moved on. She was with a rider, Éadmód was his name. I don't know all the details, but what I do know, is that he went through something very similar and that he now lives at the Hornburg with his wife and children. There has been another man, after him, but he perished during the battle at the Morannon".

Folca paused and gave a quick look to Walda before returning his eyes on him: "My Lord, I do not presume to know how things stand between you and the Princess, for it is not my business and I do not intend to meddle. I just want to ensure that nobody else will have to go through what we have. Do not expect Aefre to give up, Éomer King. On the contrary: expect her to resort to anything that might come to her mind, no matter how twisted and sick. And if you deem it…necessary, inform the Princess about it. She is not a silly, naïve girl, but she is young, and I think nobody around here would want to see her falling for Aefre's machinations".

* * *

 ** _Translations:_**

 _Wes þū hāl, Hl_ ǣ _fdige_ _Lothíriel! Wē wȳscan þē þone āc snelne wirpe!_ à Hello, Lady Lothíriel! We wish you a quick recovery!

 **Authors' notes:** I am by no mean an Old English expert. I did some research and downloaded a couple of dictionaries, but that won't do much when it comes to grammar. For that, I am trying to use what information I have managed to collect, together with my knowledge of German when it comes to declinations. Not saying it is correct and my German is far from being perfect, just that this is how I am trying to translate things into Rohirric!

As for this chapter, I know it lacks Éomer-Lothíriel interaction, but I promise that is coming very soon in the next chapter! I will upload it in a week or so, meanwhile: I wish you all happy holidays and a great time with your loved ones! Cheers from the Eternal City!

 _Guest:_ well, he took the step. Just we'll see in the next chapter the consequences for them!

 _peachpaige_ : thank you very much for your review, made my day! I'm glad the Andes' twist came as a surprise and as for her motivations, we will see in the next chapters. Yes, finally Éomer called off his affair and as predictable, Aefre isn't just going to accept it passively. In the next chapter we'll finally have an Éomer-Lothíriel confrontation on the whole matter!

 _Catspector_ : glad you liked the twist. As for Lord Arondir, I think we have quite the investigation ahead of us to find out whether he's really involved or whether it's just something Lothíriel is fixated about!


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 _Edoras, 24 February 3020_

The sun had already set behind the White Mountains when Éomer finally hurried up the stairs of Meduseld.

The day before, after having spoken with Walda and Folca, he had spent a long time mulling over what they had told him. Had he given in to his first instinct, he would have first run to Aefre to give her a piece of his mind, and then to Lothíriel. Instead, he had tried to calm down and avoid acting on an impulse. Already once he had dismissed words that should have been carefully considered and he wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Folca had no reason to lie to him, even less in the presence of Walda, so in the end he had decided to follow his advice and to speak openly with Lothíriel. He had sought her out, only to be met by Birthwyn's shaking head, informing him that the Princess had felt tired and had decided to retire earlier than usual.

He had hoped to speak to her in the morning, but shortly after the sun had arisen a rider had entered Edoras, informing them of a small group of refugees approaching the city. He had decided to see personally to the matter, thinking it wouldn't have taken him more than a few hours to lead the party to the city. But things had proceeded slower than expected and by the time they had passed through the North Gate, night had already been upon them.

Meduseld was warm and crowded. He scanned with his eyes across the Golden Hall: he could not spot any dark-haired head, but he saw Maegwen passing by and he stopped her. Luckily, when he asked whether Lothíriel had already retired, she shook her head, directing him to the library.

He moved forward in long, impatient strides and was pleased to see that the six guards at the library's door were alert and around, with Herubrand's head snapping to his direction as soon as he heard somebody approaching. He only gave the man a quick nod, not willing to be detained any longer, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

A lively fire kept the room warm and Lothíriel was curled up in a chair by the desk, sitting on her heels. She was writing something and seemed wholly absorbed by the task, she didn't even raise her eyes and simply waved a hand at him: "No, Herubrand. I said I will stay up a bit longer. Interrupting me won't make things any faster!".

Éomer raised his eyebrows, barely suppressing a chuckle. Without paying him any attention, she started again to scrap the paper with the quill, passing her tongue on her bottom lip, fully concentrated on whatever she was doing.

She wasn't wearing any bandage anymore and the cut on her head seemed to be healing nicely, while the one on her lip was barely visible. There were a few candles on the desk and their trembling light danced on her features as she puffed her cheeks, clearly unsatisfied with the document in her hand. Her hair were lose and fell on her left shoulder in a dark, smooth cascade, exposing the right side of her pale neck. Éomer stared at it, a sudden shiver running through him, himself surprised by the overwhelming desire to go to her, pull her up from that chair, dive his nose into those silky hair and kiss that slender neck until she would melt in his arm.

Lothíriel paused for a moment, presumably re-reading what she had just written, and her left hand closed on her right wrist, unconsciously fiddling and caressing the bracelet that he had given her for Yule.

Éomer smiled to himself and inclined his head: the fact that she was a Princess was at this point totally irrelevant. This wasn't just any woman. This wasn't a woman he would simply jump at, ravishing her senseless on the spot, no matter how much he would have liked to. No, this was _the_ woman. And he had to make things right.

"Am I being kicked out of my own library?".

Lothíriel's head snapped up, a blush matching the crimson of her gown spreading on her cheeks. She immediately put down her feet and sat properly on the chair. And even though he could see that she was nervous, she held his eyes in a resolved way.

"I am sorry, Éomer. Herubrand has been complaining that I should have already retired and I mistook you for him".

"That's good that you didn't listen to him, for I was hoping to speak to you".

At his words, her back straightened and she put down the quill, pushing on the side the document she had been writing, taking great care to see it piled with some other parchments, before slowly standing up. When she turned her head to him, her eyes were calm and unwavering, her chin raised: "I know you are angry, Éomer. And I'm sorry for that. But I'm not sorry for what has happened in the stables and I won't apologize for my words, nor my actions. If there will be consequences for my behaviour, I will gladly accept them. But I _will not_ apologize".

Éomer stared at her: the beautiful scarlet velvet gown, with a golden pattern embroidered along its hem, matching the one around her upper arms and her waist, emphasising her slender figure. The black cascade of her raven hair, a few rebel strands framing her face. Her pale, flawless skin. Her posture, graceful but unyielding at the same time. Those big grey eyes, looking straight at him, almost in an open challenge.

 _Béma, how could I have taken her for a childish Gondorian princess._

"Angry? When Walda came to me yesterday evening and gave me an account of what has happened, I was livid, furious, beside myself. With Aefre! Had she been there, I would have throttled her! You think anybody in Edoras would resent you for not tolerating disrespect at Gamling? You think _I_ would?".

His words seemed to have her faltering and she suddenly lost all her confidence, lowering her eyes and moving to the fireplace, giving him her back. She stared into the flames and he could guess her fingers were nervously fiddling with each other.

"In that case, there is no need for us to speak about what has happened. I would rather not to, really".

 _No need for us to speak about what has happened?_ _No need?_

"Lothíriel…", he started to say approaching her, but she stopped him abruptly.

She turned to him and to his utter surprise, she yelled at him: "I don't want to hear it, Éomer! You will tell me that you are sorry, you will apologize for the behaviour of your _mistress_. It's not your fault if she is a jealous, spiteful woman. And I don't want to have this conversation!". Her voice was a shriek and she briskly walked around him and headed back to the desk.

He hadn't expected such reaction. During her time in Edoras, and especially during her first days, they had had many confrontations. And more than a few of them had lacked in friendliness, to say the least. He also knew that some of the merchants she had met so far had been reticent towards her, but she had never lost her nerve. Her perfect Princess' poise had never waned, she had always kept herself in check, holding on that polite façade until she had got what she wanted. In this, they couldn't have been more different. At the beginning, he had been irritated by that cool appearance, but he had soon understood that there was a temper under it and that there was more to this Princess than one might have thought. As she was proving it once more in that very moment.

"How long have you known?". It was silly, really, but he had anyway hoped that she had been unaware about him and Aefre.

She gave him a wry sigh and shook her head, turning to him: "I live in Meduseld, Éomer. And ever since Yule she has never lost a chance to show me her scorn, whatever her reasons. So, please: can we agree that you are not at fault and proceed with our duties? There will be a busy Council tomorrow and we shall both go and get some rest".

She took the paper she had been working on and blew out the two candles on the desk, but Éomer quickly reached her in two long strides. He gently opened her hand until she had released the paper and then he put it down on the desk. He lowered his hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes: "Lothíriel, there are things _you must_ know. There are things _I need_ and _I want_ to speak about with you. So, will you please sit down and listen to me, or do I need to lock you in here until you yield?".

He thought she might have kicked him at the last statement, but instead she swallowed and gave him a resigned look: "Very well. Am I allowed to stay up, at least?".

He nodded and took a step back, for he doubted he would have been able to say half of the things he needed to say, having her so close. He had anticipated this moment for the last twenty-four hours, cursing at all the mishaps that had forced him to postpone it, and now he was surprised to find himself on the edge and unsure about where he should start from. _I guess the beginning it's always a good choice_.

"Me and Aefre…I don't even think _mistress_ is the right word. I…after the funeral of Théoden, when I first realized how dire our situation was, I started to struggle at dealing with my leadership, with myself. I felt like I was drowning, I started being tormented by a continuous headache and my sleep was plagued by nightmares in which I would fail my people, in which my friends and what is left of my family would turn on me".

He sighed and passed a hand through his hair but Lothíriel stood still in front of him, her face not giving in anything of what she might have been thinking: "These are all things we have already spoken about at length, Éomer".

"I know. And I am not justifying my behaviour, only trying to explain how and why things started with Aefre…".

Lothíriel gave him a snort and rolled impatiently her eyes: "I have three older brothers, Éomer. I am not that clueless with respect to why a man would seek out the company of a woman and I don't judge you for it".

"Yes, I know Erchirion and Amrothos. And I have had my share of dalliances in the past. But with Aefre it has been different, from the very beginning…I used her, Lothíriel. I used her without ever giving anything back, I treated her in ways that make me ashamed of myself…".

"Did you make her false promises? Is that what you are saying?", Lothíriel asked, looking at him with a deep frown.

"No. Never. I…", he swallowed, realizing there was no nice way to put it, "I was only interested in using her body, and never cared for her in return. We have been sharing a bed for almost five months and I can count on the fingers of my hands the times I have spoken to her. Once, she came to me during the day, entered my study while I was reading a letter from Erkenbrand, offered herself to me. Lothíriel, I have been scared by the mere memory of that day for months. For I know that I have been so very close to hit her, just because she had interrupted me while receiving the umpteenth bad news. And I may not have hit her, but I have grabbed her and shovelled her out of my study, and I know that I have hurt her. But I did it nevertheless, and didn't apologize for it".

Lothíriel was looking at him with wide eyes, her mouth gaping, incredulous.

"Birthwyn and Gamling tried to speak to me, tried to stop what was going on, but I did not pay them heed. I was here, Lothíriel, but I wasn't at the same time. I wasn't able to envisage that I would ever be feeling cheerful again, nor I was expecting to be. Sometimes, I still do". Éomer felt a lump in his throat and tried to clear his voice before continuing: speaking aloud of those things, those feeling, made him all the more aware of the abyss he had been lingering in, made him all the more aware of the wrongs he had done.

"It is hard to explain, Lothíriel, and I have myself started to understand it only recently. Éowyn, Gamling, Éothain, Birthwyn, Aefre, they all kept reminding me of things that I knew to be true: that eventually things would have gotten better, that I had been doing the best given the current circumstances, and so on. They tried desperately to forcefully drag me out of the pit I had put myself into. But it doesn't work like that, Lothíriel, and I only kept sinking deeper and deeper. That night at the Hornburg, it is as if you had thrown me a rope and managed to shine a light. You did not try to drag me out, but instead you showed me the way. And I wanted to be out of that pit, desperately. Ever since that night I have been trying to climb my way up, and I have slipped many times, I grant you that. But you have always been there, on the edge, shining everyday a bit brighter, and it took me to almost lose you to realize what your presence had come to mean…".

* * *

At that point, nothing else mattered anymore.

In the flickering light of the fire, she quickly covered the distance that divided her from Éomer. She cupped his face with both her hands and pressed her lips to his, the tears she had been trying to hold back rolling down her cheeks. A sob escaped her and she slipped her arms around his neck, hiding her face in his neck and holding him as tight as she could. From initial stupor, Éomer circled her with his own arms and straightened up, lifting her with him, one hand sinking in her hair and the other possessively grasping her hip.

She felt almost like chocking and she wondered if she had ever felt so sad and so happy in her whole life. _No, never._

She pulled back to look at him: his eyes were dark, deep pools, and she shivered at the fierceness she saw in them.

She rested her forehead against his, the tip of their noses lightly brushing, unable to look anywhere else. And only when his mouth finally found hers, she allowed herself to close her eyes, to savour the taste of his lips, the feeling of his kisses, the warmth of his breath.

She gave a little moan when she felt his tongue probing her lips and immediately followed her instinct, followed that current that was twirling them around, not caring one bit where it would land them. Their tongues intertwined, gently at first, as if trying to get accustomed to each other, exploring and teasing, poking and retreating. But the kiss soon grew in intensity and Lothíriel tightened a hand in his hair, cupping his neck with the other, anchoring herself almost desperately to him. A low groan resonated in Éomer's chest and he pulled her even closer, until every inch of their bodies was pressed together, melting together.

Lothíriel gasped but Éomer suddenly stopped: she sought his lips but he pulled slightly back and she realized he was calling her name.

"Lothíriel!".

She opened her eyes and blinked a couple of times, trying to form a coherent sentence in her mind: "What is it?".

He had a strange look and his eyes drifted to her lips. She disentangled her hand from his hair and gently touched them, getting slowly aware of a sour taste in her mouth: "Sorry, Lothíriel. I re-opened the cut on your lip, I should have thought about it".

The cut had anyway almost healed and when Lothíriel looked at her fingers, there was only a small drop of blood.

"I am glad you didn't", she told him in all earnestness. Éomer gave her an incredulous look before they both erupted in laughter, still clinging to each other.

As the last chuckles faded away, Éomer gently lowered her on her feet. He tenderly caressed her cheek and she leaned into the touch, relishing into the gentleness of his strong hand.

"As much as this would be a perfect way to end this day, there is more I need to talk with you about. Come, let's sit by the fire".

Éomer moved two chairs from the desk to the fire and sat in one of them, waiting for her to do the same. Once she did as bid, he rested his elbows on his knees and took one of her hands between his, stroking her palm with his thumb in an entrancing, soothing way.

"The night we fell asleep in my study, after having brought you to Birthwyn's room, I retired to my chamber and confronted Aefre. I told her that it was over, I begged for her forgiveness, I apologized for the way I had treated her and for that day in my study. It went on for hours, she yelled at me, cursed me, tried to convince me that there was more between us, blamed you for the way things had gone. I should have probably seen it coming, but on the moment I didn't think she would have come to you".

Lothíriel gave his hand a gentle squeeze and he lifted his eyes on her, his face serious: "Yesterday evening, Walda and Folca came to my study. Walda I expected, but not Folca. Lothíriel, did you know that him and Aefre had been hooking up when they were younger?".

"No, even though it's not a secret that Maegwen and her aren't in good terms…".

"Folca came to my study to warn me, Lothíriel".

"Warn you?".

Lothíriel listened incredulous as Éomer told her about Folca's story. True, she had thought Aefre to be as beautiful as sour almost from the very beginning. The disdain she had showed her that day in her brother's shop, the false and satisfied smile she had given her in the corridors in front of the King's chambers, the glares she had thrown her everytime they would cross each other through the streets of Edoras.

At first, she hadn't comprehended the reasons for her behaviour. But ever since the ride on Yule, it had become clear that Aefre had unreciprocated feelings for the King. And so she had understood that her scorn was based on jealousy, for her and Éomer were often spending time together. Lothíriel had never thought that Éomer could have had feelings for her and he himself had confessed her that he had only realized it in the last days. But maybe Aefre had seen it earlier than everybody else, earlier than themselves, that something was passing between the two of them. And for this, she had hated her.

But what Éomer was telling her, was something else, something on a complete new level.

"Lothíriel, I know my behaviour with you has often left something to be desired, and I know I have behaved dishonourably with Aefre. But I have never lied, Lothíriel. Maybe to myself, I give you that, but I have never lied to anybody else: never".

"I know, Éomer. I am sorry that I doubted about it earlier, it's just…".

"Do you trust me, Lothíriel?".

His eyes were fixed on hers and she felt like she couldn't divert her gaze: "Yes". Of course!

"Good, then I want you to listen to me, Lothíriel. Between me and Aefre, it is over. It is over because I have never had feelings for her in the first place and it is over because she is not the woman I want. If it wasn't for her, maybe at this point I would have taken things slower between us. But I won't risk something to happen to you, to us, because of her. And anyway after tonight, I truly think it's better like this".

She looked at him, unable to form any word, her heart pounding so loud in her chest that she wondered if he could hear it. Her hand shook and he held it tighter, reaching with his other hand for her cheek: "I hope she will simply give up, Lothíriel. But I have a feeling that she won't, not after what Folca has told me, and I don't want you to suffer at her hands. I have assigned you guards that will protect you from any physical harm, but there is still much that she can try to do to compromise things between us and I can't be there all the time. Lothíriel, I need you to trust me when I tell you that between me and Aefre it's over, and if still something happens that makes you doubt about it, then I want you to tell me immediately. Do you understand?".

Lothíriel nodded to him, still struggling to retrieve her voice. She swallowed and covered the hand on her cheek with one of her own: "I do understand, and I do trust you, Éomer".

He pulled her to him and she allowed to be drawn into his embrace, not caring one bit about how improper it was to be sitting in his lap, letting herself be tenderly cradled by his arms, by the warmth of his body, by the steady rhythm of his heart, by the tender kisses he dropped on her head.

* * *

For a long time Éomer held her in his arms, occasionally closing his eyes to savour the peace of that moment.

He was perfectly aware of the many problems and challenges that were just around the corner, waiting for them. He knew things were far from being settled. But in that instant, he allowed himself to forget about all those worries, relishing in the feeling of this woman in his arms, in the soothing and silent warmth of that room.

The rest of the world faded away, as he finally dared envisaging more cheerful days to come.

"Lothíriel?".

"Hm?".

He smiled at her sleepy response and at the way she sunk deeper into his embrace, rubbing her face on his shoulder and grabbing at the shirt on his chest.

"The refugees that came today, they told us they were part of a bigger group and that the most of them decided to head for Aldburg, having relatives there. Therefore, I was thinking about visiting Elfhelm, in a week or so, to ensure everything is in order. If Aldor has no objections, would you like to come with me?".

He braced himself to be at the receiving hand of her notorious enthusiasm. But even though her muscles briefly tensed and she gave an almost imperceptible wince, holding tighter on his shirt, else she did not move: "Of course I would like to come, Éomer. And rest assured that Aldor will have no objections!".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** I hope the long-awaited confrontation between Éomer and Lothíriel has lived up to expectations. I would say that from now on we enter a second part of the story. If you would like to give me a feedback or an advice, please know that you will make me happy! Your reviews are really important to me!

As for the next chapters, I hope I will manage to keep the once-a-week updating schedule, but I can't promise. I just got a new job (yey!) and for the next year I will be commuting one hour and a half per way. Which, as you can imagine, doesn't leave too much time for writing. But anyway, even if I may update less regularly, don't worry: this story is still very much on my mind, I have plenty of ideas for it and I'm not giving up!

For the time being, I wish you a happy new year and an awesome start of 2018!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 _Aldburg, 2_ _nd_ _March, 3020_

Lothíriel sat comfortably in her chair, enjoying the merry atmosphere of her second evening in Aldburg and savouring the taste of the red wine in her goblet.

Rohirrim seemed to prefer ale and ever since her arrival in Rohan she had drunk her good share of it. But apparently Aldburg's storages had more than a few barrels of wine and Elfhelm and his wife, Gytha, had insisted on opening one to celebrate the visit of their King and his Gondorian Ambassador.

The trip to Aldburg had proved to be much needed, for the both of them.

Back in Edoras, Lothíriel had quickly recovered from her ordeal and Aldor had promptly agreed that riding would not be a problem for her. As soon as she had resumed her duties, her days had started again to be filled with activities. She would have thought it to be helpful, but Gamling's absence had become heavier by the day. During the Council's meetings, more than once she had found herself staring at the empty chair by her side, not paying any attention to what she was being told. His presence had seemed to linger in Meduseld and she had often retired earlier than usual to her new room, feeling drained and melancholic.

Éomer and her had started to take supper together in his study, for it was the only moment of the day they could share with each other without being surrounded by half of the household. For the first time, Éomer had opened to her about his past and had told her about his childhood and the loss of his parents, about growing up in Edoras and becoming a rider, about the war. He had actually done most of the talking during those last days and she had often limited herself to carefully listen to his stories, while resting in his warm embrace.

Just like Éomer had feared, Aefre hadn't given up. Twice she had sneaked up in his room at night and she would have probably continued if Éomer, exasperated by her refusal to listen to his words, hadn't ordered the guards at the doors to keep her out. She knew he was feeling torn between the wish to keep Aefre as far as possible from her and his own guilty conscience for the way he had treated the woman. And Lothíriel herself had spent a lot of time thinking about it, finding it hard at times to believe his words, for they were such a contrast to the man she knew him to be.

Maegwen had insisted on having a long talk about Aefre with Holdwyn and her, to ensure that her maid was also aware of the situation. And it had proved to be a good idea because only a few days later, Aefre had approached the girl, insinuating that there had been something between Lothíriel and Walda. Holdwyn hadn't elaborated on what exactly she had answered, but Aefre must have been clearly furious, for she had then turned her attentions on the rider himself. She wasn't sure who had been more outraged of the two of them, Walda or Holdwyn, but since that day they had been firmly siding each other.

As to her, she didn't know if it was because of their encounter in the stables or because of her guards, but Aefre had so far never sought her out. She was glad for it, but the situation had nevertheless started to aggravate her and she had found herself eagerly anticipating the trip to Aldburg.

The one-day ride had done good to both Éomer and herself. She had actually started to wonder when riding a horse had become so soothing and curative for her, for she was sure it had not been so in the past. The more they rode away from Edoras, the more cheerful the group had become: Herubrand, Walda and Holdwyn had joined them as well while Éothain had stayed behind, for Heruwyn was expected to give birth to their first baby on any of those days.

The cheerful laugh of her maid interrupted her musing and Lothíriel could barely hid a grin when she saw her whispering something to Walda, who in turn burst out laughing. _For all her plotting, it seems like Aefre has so far achieved the opposite of what she has wished for._

Turning to her right, she saw that Éomer wasn't any longer in his chair: engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn't even realized that he had stood up. Lothíriel straightened and looked around and when her eyes met Gytha's one, the woman gave her a knowingly smile and leaned closer to her: "You know, my Lady, there is a balcony on the western side of the Hall from which one can get a beautiful view of the mountains. Especially on such a clear night and with a full moon!".

Contrary to Déorhild, Gytha had not seemed to be intimidated by her rank and had been comfortable in her presence since the very first moment. She was an energetic small woman and they had immediately taken a liking to each other.

Lothíriel laughed and shook disbelievingly her head, but indeed followed Gytha's hint and excused herself, assuring her guards that she was only to get a bit of fresh hair. It hadn't probably been the smartest thing to say for Holdwyn gave her quite the sceptical look, but luckily kept for herself whatever she had been thinking.

It took Lothíriel a couple of minutes before she was finally able to locate the balcony and when she made for opening the window, she braced herself for a gust of cold air and hoped she wouldn't get another fever, least Birthwyn and Aldor would lock her inside Meduseld for the remaining of her time in Rohan.

Éomer was there, leaning with his elbows on the windowsill. As he heard her approaching, he straightened up and offered her his hand.

Ever since their arrival, on the evening before, she had sensed in him some mix of melancholy and nostalgia.

Even though he had only been eleven years of age at the time, the death of his parents and the move to Edoras had marked for Éomer the end of his childhood and the beginning of adulthood. And she couldn't even start to imagine how many memories this place must have been bringing back to him right now.

Lothíriel stepped gratefully into his warm embrace and rested her head on his chest, looking at the landscape in front of them: "Is everything alright, Éomer?".

He took his time before answering, his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with her hair: "Yes. I had forgotten how full of ghosts this place can be".

There wasn't much she could say to that. Almost fifteen years had passed since her mother had left them, and while her father's palace was full of happy memories related to her, there were also a few spots that she still preferred avoiding. One was her favourite place on their private beach, another the exact point along the walls from which she would stand to look at her husband riding away. Everytime she walked by those spots, she could almost see the blurry profile of her mother, a sad and bitter sensation spreading through her veins.

Éomer's arms tightened around her and his voice was a tender whisper: "Lothíriel…". His hands cupped her cheeks and gently lifted her face to him.

* * *

Éomer leaned down, pressing his lips against hers.

It started as a kiss so much alike those they had shared over the past few evenings. A sweet, comforting touch, a reassurance of each other's closeness. But it also soon evolved into something completely else.

Her lips tasted of the wine they had been drinking, her hands were cool and soft on his face. Her scent, that scent that he did not know what it was, only that it was so unmistakably her, filled his nostrils. A little whimper escaped her soft lips and her big grey eyes glowed in the moonlight like stars of their own. He felt like he was drowning into her: all his senses were filled of her and yet he longed for more.

His hands moved along her lithe body, gently and almost reverently at first. But for every further inch his fingers explored, his heart would beat faster, the need for more of this, more of her, turning into an almost physical ache. His hands became possessive, roaming on her body, following the length of her back, the curve of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts. He cupped the nape of her neck and deepened their kiss, his other hand grabbing at her firm bottom and pulling her closer to him.

"Éomer…", Lothíriel moaned softly his name, and it was as if that simple sound had managed to sting a chord deep inside his very soul. Her own touch became urgent, her lips demanding, her hands bolder. A groan escaped him, he pulled her up and sat her on the windowsill: she clung to him, a hand holding firmly and almost painfully in his hair and the other pulling on his back, as if trying to get him even closer than he already was.

She whimpered as his lips left hers and started trailing along the line of her jaw, finally capturing the pale skin of her slender neck. Instinctively, she tilted her head to give him a better access and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing against him. She gave a small gasp upon feeling the reaction of his own body to her but did not flinch, holding instead even tighter on him.

 _This is madness._ He grabbed her hips and suggestively moved against her, drinking in the sight of her, the stir in his groin becoming almost painful, feeling his self-control dangerously slipping away.

But this time, Lothíriel winced and went still in his arms, her small hands pushing on his chest. With an almost unbearable effort he forced his eyes open, his breath coming in gasps, and he realized that a crack of light had fallen upon them. Gradually, he became aware of another feminine voice on the balcony. _Blasted Holdwyn._

By the time he had turned his head, the maid had already retreated back inside and closed the window. Darkness enveloped them again as whispered voices reached them from the inside of the Hall: "Damn you, Walda! I told you that the King was with her! Now he will throttle me!".

"What if he wasn't, eh Holdwyn!? Éomer King will put my head on a spear and replace me with Sparkler if I let anything else happen to her! I had to be sure!".

"Yes, well next time check on your own then!".

Their voices became muffled as the sound of their steps faded away and Éomer shook resignedly his head: "Béma, if Éothain gets wind of this I'm as good as dead!".

He turned back to Lothíriel. Her hands were covering her face and she leant her head on his shoulder: her body was shaking and for a moment he thought she might be crying but instead, her laughter filled the air. It couldn't be helped and mirth started to bubble inside him as well. He pulled her once more to him, kissing the top of her head: "It's good to hear you laughing, Lothíriel. Meduseld was not the same this last week without your overwhelming enthusiasm, you know?".

* * *

Lothíriel sighed and closed her eyes, a small smile still lingering on her lips: "I know, it's just…I miss him. A lot".

"Aye. That we all do".

Éomer's hands gently rubbed her back and Lothíriel snuggled deeper into his warm embrace, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

"He had always had a soft spot for you. I remember the day he came back from Minas Tirith, I…I made the wrong choice of words and I swear he almost bit my head off".

" _Wrong choice of words_?".

"Ah…well, I guess bringing this up wasn't the smartest thing to do either, was it?" he said, a deep chuckling reverberating in his chest.

" _Wrong choice of words_?".

"I called you a _child Gondorian princess_. And he immediately reprimanded me, saying you weren't just any other Gondorian woman".

A small laugh escaped her lips.

Gamling's smiley face came before her eyes but for the first time in many days, it did not bring a lump in her throat, an instinct to lock herself in a room and cry herself to sleep. Instead, the memories of all the good times they had spent together seemed to outshine everything else: "Has he ever told you in details about the evening I informed him that I had managed to close the deal with Lord Arondir?".

"Not really".

"I arrived in Minas Tirith a few days after him. But instead of going to him and tell him about it, I just passed by his room and invited him for dinner at my father's house, saying that I had _good news_ but refusing to tell more. I left him brooding half a day on it, even though I knew how worried he was. When father found out he was livid".

"Why would you do that?".

"I wanted to tell him at the presence of my family, so that they would see how capable I was, so that they would praise me. Quite petty, isn't it?".

"Yes. Which is why it doesn't sound like something you would do, Lothíriel".

"But I did nonetheless, you can ask anybody in my family".

"What then?".

"Father had me apologize to him and when I spoke to Gamling, later that evening, to make amends once more, he just smiled and reassured me that he would have taken care of informing you and the Council about the role I had played. I…I think Gamling saw right through me from the very first moment, he has always seen Lothíriel rather than the Princess. I know it's not a nice thing to say, but I feel that he has understood me better than most of the people in my family…".

 _Yes, he had._

Even though the love that her father and brothers had for her was a fact that she would never doubt, something she would be eternally grateful for, a distance had grown between them over the past years. Her _overwhelming enthusiasm_ , as Éomer had put it, her curiosity and resourcefulness, all those features which had amused her family when she had been but a child, which had made them proud of that intelligent young girl taking by storm the whole palace of Dol Amroth, had slowly but inexorably changed significance as she had grown up. From qualities to be praised, to flaws to be hidden in the strict Gondorian society. There had been only one reason she had been allowed to take over her brother's role in the previous years: war. Had peace blessed them, her father would have never dreamed to allow her involvement. He would have expected her to be the epitome of the Gondorian Princess and would have probably already started arranging a marriage for her. Only war and the influence of her tenacious aunt had tampered his initiative.

Gamling had had any reason to be upset with her, to consider her an immature, egocentric, spoiled Gondorian lady. And he would have been at least partially right to do so. But instead, he had understood her motives and forgiven her shortcomings. And him, a soldier and a rider, a man not far in age from her own father, hailing from a land that couldn't have been more different from her own, had become in a few short months the best friend she had ever had.

Éomer pressed another kiss on her head and when a colder gust of wind had her involuntarily shivering, he immediately lifted her in his own arms, walking towards the window: "I am just cold, Éomer. I can walk!".

She tried to wriggle down but he totally ignored her: "In case you haven't noticed it, it's anyway too late to save our dignity. Come, let me carry you inside, there's something I want to show you".

Éomer crossed the corridor in long strides and Lothíriel thanked the semi-darkness for she was sure to be as red as a pepper when he stopped a passing maid to ask for some warm tea to be brought to the library.

Once there, Éomer gently lowered her on a chair by the fire and then kneeled next to a dusty chest lying nearby. Lothíriel craned her neck and saw him carefully opening it and taking out a wooden box that he immediately passed her: "When we moved to Edoras, we left a lot of stuff behind. The most of it we either got back through the years or went lost, but luckily this survived. I found it earlier today in the cellars".

Lothíriel looked quizzically at the box and took it in her hands: it wasn't too heavy and it sounded as if there were many small pieces left loose on the inside. She lay it on her legs and waited for Éomer to take place in the chair next to her. Her hand moved to the small latch but she hesitated, looking up to Éomer: "Go on, open it!", he encouraged her.

With great care, she lifted the wood cover but whatever childhood memento she was expecting, it wasn't that. She looked disbelievingly at its content and felt as if her heart had skipped a beat.

"My father carved it for me when I was a young boy. Every evening, whenever he wasn't away on patrol, we would sit in the Hall and play until my mother would come and force me to bed".

A _fox and geese_ board lay inside the box, crafted in a light chestnut wood. Lothíriel's fingers almost reverently touched its surface, her eyes shifting from the central playing area to the four corners, each richly decorated with an intricate pattern of curved inlays. The pawns were messily scattered on the top of it and her fingers closed around two of the geese: Éomer's father must have spent days working on this, for each of them was slightly different from the other, all accurately whittled and painted.

Éomer had told her something about him and she tried to picture this proud and fierce warrior, maybe sitting with his men around a campfire after the umpteenth fight, patiently and meticulously carving little geese for his young boy, looking forward for when they would have finally been reunited.

"I haven't played in ages, but I was hoping that you might take pity and give me a chance?".

Lothíriel sniffed and gave him a watery smile, forcing back the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes: "I'd like that very much, Éomer".

"Good".

She lay the board on the small table in front of them and carefully collected the pawns in her hand. Gingerly, she started to place the geese on the squares of one of the arms but once the last of them was rightly placed, Lothíriel realized something was missing.

"The fox must have gone lost. I searched for it in the chest but could not find it. Hold on, I'll find something to use in its stead".

The words escaped her lips before she could even realize it: "No, wait, Éomer. I…I have it!".

Her hand reached inside the pocket of her gown and searched until her fingers closed around a small object. Éomer looked quizzically at her as she slowly opened her hand, revealing the small red fox of Gamling's board: ever since finding it in a corner of her old room on the day after that fateful night, she had never parted with it. At night she would put it on her nightstand, and at day she would carefully store it back into one of her pockets, occasionally fidgeting with it whenever something reminded her of Gamling. She smiled as her fingers put the fox in place, the memories of the many evenings spent playing in her room flowing through her, and gave Éomer a satisfied look.

Éomer squeezed gently her hand: "Best of three?".

"Best of three, my Lord. But do not expect me to give you an easy win just because you are King here!".

Well, Éomer hadn't joked when he had claimed to be out of practice. Lothíriel won round after round and she found herself amused by his indignation. He was quickly getting better, she had to give him that, but even though she granted him one rematch after the other, he never managed to corner her, no matter the side she was playing with.

"I could lose on purpose, if it would make you feel better", she teased him with a most innocent expression on her face.

" _Lose on purpose_?! _Lose on…_ watch your tongue, _Princess_ , we are bordering treason here! Let me only ask you one question, may I?".

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him: "Yes?".

"Are you ticklish?".

Lothíriel blinked and stared at him, but before she could even register the sense of his question he had already grabbed one of her arm and pulled her in his lap, tickling mercilessly her sides. She shrieked and started to laugh hysterically, wriggling and trying to sneak away from his arms, to no avail.

"You brute! Let me go!", she breathlessly pleaded him, and when a familiar voice reached them from the other side of the door, she started to wonder whether it was possible to die because of too much laughter. She hoped not.

"Lady Lothíriel?", Walda's voice was between exasperation and resignation and in her mind, she could picture him standing in the corridor, nervously considering whether he ought to risk his liege's anger and check on her or whether he shall better trust that everything was fine inside the room.

* * *

Not for the first time, Éomer wondered what exactly had Gamling been thinking of, when he had assigned Walda to Lothíriel's guard.

He released her and she immediately took the chance to sneak at a safe distance from his hands, still breathlessly laughing and holding her stomach. He stood up and grunted his way to the door: " _Yes_ , Walda?".

The young rider seemed to shrink and gave him a nervous smile: "I am sorry, Éomer King, I just wanted to be sure that the Princess was fine, I heard her yelling and so…".

"The Princess is fine, you oaf!", Éomer shut the door to his face and walked back by the fire.

Lothíriel was clearly struggling to keep herself from bursting out laughing again while drying her eyes and trying to keep her face straight: "Éomer, you will be the death of that poor guard".

Well maybe not death, but he was rather sure that he had shortened Walda's life of a couple of years the evening he had informed him about what had taken place in the stables: "Is it my fault that he ends up being constantly in the wrong place at the wrong time?".

Lothíriel had been in the process of setting the _fox and geese_ board back to its box, but she stopped and turned to him, her face serious: "You haven't been too harsh on him about what has happened between me and Aefre, have you? I asked him but he refused to tell me".

"I gave him quite the scare to start with, but Folca saved him from worse to take place. I suppose that's where his current exasperating persistence comes from, I guess I am partially to blame for that".

Lothíriel sighed as she secured the latch of the box and gave it a pensive look: "What do you think will happen, Éomer?".

 _Ah, if only I knew._ For the past week, Aefre had refused giving them a moment of peace. If sneaking in his room to try to convince him that things weren't over between them hadn't probably been something completely out of the ordinary in such situation, the same could not be told about her approaching Holdwyn and Walda. Folca's words had been a clear warning and yet, he had almost had a hard time to believe that she was actually doing just like he had predicted. Trying to turn Holdwyn against Lothíriel, trying to seduce Walda in the hope of bringing harm to the girl and, consequently, to Lothíriel, was as foolish and nonsensical as sick and twisted, just like Folca's had said.

At that point, everything suggested that things would only get worse before hopefully, eventually, getting better. And he knew that he was greatly at fault for this. Had his parents, his uncle or his cousin be alive, they would have been ashamed of the way he had behaved. Had somebody treated Éowyn the way he had treated Aefre, he would have run his sword through the damn bastard. And even though Gamling and Birthwyn had guessed something, he was quite sure they had never really known the half of it.

Even though he had told everything to Lothíriel, he himself wasn't completely sure whether she had understood the enormity of his behaviour, for how could she otherwise have accepted him so easily? There were two parts constantly at battle inside him: one telling that Lothíriel was simply too young and unexperienced to have fully understood his words; the other telling him to have more trust in her. And even though it felt sometimes scaring, he had decided to hold to this latter voice. He had decided not to underestimate her, for over and over in the past months she had proved to be the only person who could really understand him and those little monsters that seemed to be feeding on his soul.

Because of this, no matter his own guilt with Aefre, he was absolutely determined to ensure that no more harm would come to Lothíriel. He hoped that one day Aefre would turn her attention to yet another man, like she seemed to have always done in the past, forgetting about them. But if that wasn't to happen, he would take whatever appropriate measure.

"I don't know, Lothíriel. I doubt she will give up so easily, but we will soon be leaving for Minas Tirith and I hope that by the time we are back, by the time you are back, she will have moved on with her life".

Lothíriel tilted her head and gave him a sweet but mischievous smile, raising a hand on his cheek: "By the time _I_ am back? And why would that be, my Lord".

He pulled her to him and buried a hand in her silky hair: her eyes were blazing and her mouth slightly parted, its corners still twitching. He bit on his own lip, trying to keep himself from losing his control for the second time in one evening: "Because _you_ , Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, are to be my wife and the Queen of Rohan".

"Am I? It's strange, because I don't recall having agreed to any of this, _my Lord_ ". Her voice was a soft, low purr and for a moment he stared at her. A week earlier she had given him her very first kiss and now there she was, responding passionately to the untoward liberties he had taken with her, making him tremble with desire with a simple _my lord_.

 _Béma, where is that damned guard when one needs him to prevent things from escalating!_

He took a deep breath and swallowed, holding to every last bit of restraint that he could find in himself. His voice was low and his hands held tighter to her: "Marry me".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** after so many struggles, I thought Éomer and Lothíriel deserved a break for themselves. It wasn't the easiest chapter for me to write but I hope you liked it.

Thank you again to _peachpaige_ for your feedback and your correction, much appreciated! And thank you _LadyAlixa_ for the review. I am glad you are enjoying the story and that Andes' betray came as a surprise! We'll see who's behind all of this!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 _Edoras, 10_ _th_ _March, 3020_

Éomer stood on the terrace of Meduseld, taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air and the warm sun shining over him. Earlier that day, Lothíriel had gone to pay a visit to Éothain, Heruwyn and their daughter Elfhild and he could now spot her walking through the streets, surrounded by her guards, slowly coming back to Meduseld in perfect time for the next Council meeting.

Upon coming back to Edoras, days had quickly fallen again into the comfortable routine they had gotten used to over the past weeks.

The time spent in Aldburg, no matter how short, had granted them the break they had needed in order to get some respite and set things right. Since then, a deeper and more solid trust had started to thrive between them, a mutual faith that had seemed to feed on Aefre's attempts to interfere instead of being undermined by it. And even though there were still nights when his nightmares would mercilessly torment him, the assurance of Lothíriel's presence was right now all the hope he needed to go on, to know that better times would soon come.

Indeed, there were many reasons to be hopeful. The reports he had received over the last few days had confirmed that losses had been almost negligible over the winter, even in the Wold. And the weather itself had seemingly decided to take mercy on them: it was still too early to tell it for sure, of course, but even though winters in Rohan tended to be long and cold, it had been almost three weeks since the last snowfall and temperatures had been unusually mild.

In a sort of chain reaction, that in turn had allowed some of the merchants to show up in Edoras earlier than expected. Just the day before he had personally signed a long term agreement for the trade of wood, one of those that were of paramount importance for Rohan's recovery. And though he was by no mean an expert in the field, he was aware that Lothíriel had done an excellent job in the bargaining. During the endless hours that the process had required, he had spent a long time observing her: her polite façade held firmly in place, her poise as flawless as ever, not even once she had given ground or allowed those men to intimidate her. Not only she was the woman he wanted by her side, the woman he wanted to spend his life with, the woman he wanted to be the mother of his children: she was also the epitome of the perfect Queen for Rohan.

In more than one occasion he had seen his advisors throwing him unequivocal glares. But after they had been such a thorn in the flesh ever since the war had ended, tormenting him with the necessity of taking wife, he had decided to leave them stew in their own juice for a bit longer.

He knew the situation to be anyway rather obvious. Too obvious, actually. At the end of each day, they had taken to retire to his study to have supper together and spend some time on their own. They would work for a few hours and then they would sit in front of the fire, occasionally playing _fox and geese_ on the board he had insisted on giving her. Other times, they would simply sit next to each other, sharing stories of their past and worries of their future.

Were Lothíriel to be a Rohirric woman, it would have been good enough. But she wasn't and he knew that their behaviour would have been considered extremely inappropriate in Gondor. He could only hope that Imrahil would never catch wind of it.

For all her Gondorian upbringing, ever since the day he had told her about Aefre, Lothíriel had responded to him in such an eager and passionate way, that sometimes he found himself keenly anticipating the ride to Minas Tirith, for he wasn't sure for how long they would be able to keep the inevitable from happening. Some other times, he hoped that the day of their departure would never come, for even though it was true that there was a deep reciprocal trust between him and Imrahil, he anyway feared that after everything that had happened, he would prove hard to convince about letting him marry his only daughter. And even if things would go smoothly, he was perfectly aware that in Gondor betrothals would normally last at least one year. Which meant there were big chances that they wouldn't get married before the next spring and that given all the duties he had, that they would hardly meet each other during that time.

That was enough to distress him twice: once, because he would have to endure that time away from her. She had only been there for less than three months and yet it was hard to imagine a Meduseld without Lothíriel, without her quarrels in the Council whenever a decision she judged to be unwise was being taken, without her inexplicable ability to sooth his foul moods by the simple mean of her presence, without the bright light and fresh air that she would bring upon them everytime she let her enthusiasm get the better of her, remind him of everything that was good, everything that was worth fighting for.

Twice, because the awareness of how much she had come to mean to him in that short time, honestly scared him. Over the past few days, he had often found himself thinking about his own mother, about the grief to which she had succumbed. For so many years, when he had been younger, the mere memory of her had been enough to awake inside him a burning and uncontrollable rage. And maybe there was a part of him which would never be able to forgive her for having abandoned him and his sister when they had needed her the most. But for the first time, there was also a part of him that had started to understand.

Éomer turned back towards the city, observing Lothíriel as she slowly climbed up the stairs leading to Meduseld, laughing at something Holdwyn was telling her. A chuckle escaped him for those two were a perfect match and the meek expression on Walda's face was worth a thousand words. He was about to step down the stairs to meet them halfway, when the shout of one of the guards on watch had his head snapping: "A rider!".

His eyes immediately scanned the plains in front of Edoras, until he caught a movement and narrowed his eyes, focusing on the barely discernible shape of a horse galloping at full speed towards them.

Seventeen days after having left Edoras in all haste, Bregdan was finally back.

* * *

"I knew it!".

Lothíriel snapped from her chair, pacing restlessly up and down his study.

Éomer pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing deeply and trying to collect his thoughts, for nothing of their plan had worked like they had hoped.

Aragorn and Imrahil's letters were long and detailed but the core was quite simple: nobody had come to pick up Andes' letter at the inn, the innkeeper could not provide any help and, from the few information they had managed to gather in that short time, Lord Arondir was absolutely above any suspicion. They both ensured them that they would have kept an eye on the man in the weeks to come, but it was quite clear that they did not believe him involved in any way.

In theory, that meant they were back to square one, but he had a feeling that Lothíriel was of a different mind.

"Calm down, Lothíriel, maybe your…".

"Calm down?! Calm down?! How do you want me to calm down, eh?!", she yelled back at him, her hands clenched in fists. Her body was shaking, her neck and her cheeks were flushed red and a vein popped out on her temple. Tears were spilling from her eyes, tears of anger.

"Loth…".

"He killed Gamling and you ask me to calm down? I will calm down when he is locked in a dungeon for the rest of his pathetic life! I don't give a damn that none of you believe me, Éomer! I will get to the bottom of this, with or without your support, you hear me?".

"Enough, Lothíriel! You are getting obsessed with that man!".

" _Obsessed_?! Is that what you think? That I've lost my mind and convinced myself of Lord Arondir's guilt?".

"Yes! Béma Lothíriel, don't you think that your own father would have carefully considered the matter before writing these?", he shouted back, waving the stock of letters in front of him.

"Think about it, Éomer! Why did nobody pick up Andes' letter? Somehow, he must have been informed that the plan had failed, maybe he had another man in Edoras and he has decided to fly low for the time being!".

"Might be, but that has still nothing to do with Lord Arondir!"

"I know! Which is exactly why I will personally look into this as soon as I am back in Minas Tirith!".

"And of course _you_ will succeed where both Aragorn and your father have failed, right?".

Her eyes flashed dangerously and suddenly she wasn't yelling anymore: "Don't you dare belittle me, Éomer", she hissed through gritted teeth, coming to stand right in front of him.

"Then stop behaving like a child, Lothíriel", he growled back.

"Well, isn't that what I am? A _child Gondorian princess_ ". And with that, she turned and stormed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

His mug of water was the first thing his fingers found and he threw it against the wall: "Damn stubborn woman!".

As he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to follow his own advice, to calm down, Gamling's words echoed through his memories: s _he is determined and single minded...not just any other Gondorian woman._ He leaned with both arms on his desk as a sense of uneasiness spread inside him, because he knew it: Lothíriel would never stop, she would never give up. No matter how many guards her father would assign her, no matter the precautions they would try to impose on her, she would never accept to be kept locked in her room until the issue had been resolved. If it will ever be.

He loved that strength of her, he loved her spirit and her fighting back, but he also knew it made her so terribly vulnerable, it exposed her to an unknown number of risks: the person who had commissioned her murder was still out there and at any moment he could decide to make another attempt. And while he felt rather confident about the protection that Rohan was now offering to Lothíriel, he couldn't say the same about Minas Tirith nor Dol Amroth.

But what scared him above all, was the anger burning inside her, for he knew that feeling, he knew it all too well and he knew it can make people do stupid things. It can make a father chase orcs with less man than it was advisable, it can make a brother loses his mind and lead a hopeless charge on the battlefield. The image of Éowyn, lying lifelessly on the Pelennor Fields, flashed back in his mind: for how long had he blamed himself for not having payed enough attention to his sister's sorrow, for not having understood that she had aspired to more?

There was nothing that he wanted more than keeping Lothíriel at the furthest distance from any possible harm, and if that meant having her locked up in Dol Amroth until she could come back to Rohan, then he would gladly lend her father a few guards for the job. But if he had wanted somebody who would have accepted being confined to the role of passive spectator of her own life, he should have chosen _any other Gondorian woman_. Not Lothíriel.

He sighed and rubbed a hand on his face.

He didn't know where her fixation about Lord Arondir was coming from. Before reading Andes' letter, when he had asked her whether she thought that any of the people she had dealt with might have been involved, she hadn't even mentioned his name. All her conviction was based on those few lines in her maid's letter, no matter how actually inconclusive they were. And she knew it, she knew those words were no proof, she hadn't even tried too hard to convince him about their alleged relevance. But now, faced with the failure of their plan and the sceptical feedback of both her father and Aragorn, she was more determined than ever to prove them wrong.

He knew it had been a tough blow for her. The attempt on her life, the betrayal of her trusted maid and, above all, Gamling's death.

Those two couldn't have been more different: him, a simple soldier of humble origins, hailing from a small village lost on the plains of Rohan and her, a Princess of Dol Amroth, belonging to one of the most ancient lines of all Gondor. Almost three decades had separated them but despite everything, a rare friendship had blossomed between them, one of those made of intelligence and fun, of respect and mutual growth. Gamling had seen her for who she really was, for what she was really worth, before anybody else. And if it weren't for him, Rohan might have faced a much harsher winter and Lothíriel might have never come to Edoras. Who knows, maybe they would have never met. Or maybe they would have met at his sister's wedding and surely disliked each other, the petty Princess and the grumpy King.

 _What am I to do?_

* * *

She didn't even answer Éobold's greeting as she entered the stables, her guards rushing after her. A couple of stable boys hurried out of her way as she walked towards the far end of the building: Bethril was probably being exercised for her box was empty, but Sparkler was there. She opened the door and pushed it closed behind her before taking a few steps inside, walking around him until the bulk of his body was hiding her from the oppressive presence of the guards.

She sunk a hand in his thick reddish mane and rested her head on his neck, feeling the pulse of his strong heart. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on that steady rhythm, breathing in and out, in and out. _Valar, what have I done?_

When a booming voice filled the stables, she did not need to open her eyes to know what was happening. A few horses neighed nervously and she heard the footsteps of her guards hurriedly exiting the building, the doors being closed. Sparkler shifted his weight but kept otherwise still, shielding her from what she knew to be a very enraged Éomer.

"Get out of there, Lothíriel".

When she did not answer, he pushed open the door and Sparkler stomped nervously his hoofs, causing her to take a step back: "Béma woman, what have you done to this horse!?", he growled, raising a hand to calm him.

"If you have come to order me to my rooms until _you men_ have heroically cleared up the situation, then you may very well save the effort". Storming out of his study in the middle of their discussion might have been as childish as he was accusing her to be, but she wasn't to give ground.

Under his expert touch, Sparkler quickly calmed down and let Éomer in, throwing her what she could swear was an apologetic look.

"Get out of here". As much as his commanding tone would have deserved it, Lothíriel thought better than to stomp her feet.

She got out of the box, closely followed by Éomer, feeling his burning stare on her back: "I understand that you don't believe me, Éomer. I doubt anybody would, really. But I won't accept to be treated like a precious ornament, to be kept hidden and protected for the next foreseeable future. That's exactly what father will try to impose on me. I will deal with it, but I won't accept it from you".

"Look Loth…".

"It's not as if I'm planning to charge madly into Lord Arondir's house! I am not stupid!".

"I kn…".

"I will take all the needed precautions, I will take guards, I will be discreet! But you can't expect me to sit back in my room, spending my time idly knitting and fanning myself until the day you and my father have deemed it wise for us to marry! I do not…".

"I am not planning to lock you anywhere but if you don't let me speak, I might well consider gagging you!".

Lothíriel opened and closed her mouth, eventually giving him a little nod.

"You are right, I don't believe you and I am quite sure you are wrong on the whole matter. Ah: silence!".

Lothíriel looked at the finger pointing at her mouth and swallowed whatever she was going to blurt out.

"And I will admit that I would like nothing more than knowing you locked in your father's palace, _idly knitting_ and _fanning yourself_. Though I doubt you even know how… _idly_ and _knitting,_ I mean. I might trust you on the fanning part".

Her nails were starting to dig into her palms and she felt rather sure that her face must have upgraded from red to purple: "Do you think this funny?".

"Hush! You came up with it, not me! As I was saying", he stepped closer and cupped her neck with both hands, their faces only inches apart, "I'd like nothing more than knowing you safely locked in your father's palace. But I know I cannot ask you that, Lothíriel".

 _He knows?_ "You know?".

His lips twitched and his thumbs gently stroke her cheeks: "Yes. If you were that type of woman, I doubt you would have ever come to Rohan in the first place, let alone yell to the face of her ruling King".

"I'm sorry, Éomer. I shouldn't have…".

"No, you shouldn't have. And I shouldn't have said that you were behaving like a child. For that, _I_ am sorry. So, now that we have all agreed about how sorry we are, can I go on with what I was trying to say?".

His hands slipped on her shoulder and she waited for him to continue.

"Good. I will support you, Lothíriel, but I want you to agree to some rules".

"You mean like a compromise?".

"I guess one could call it so".

"And what would these rules be?".

"I will speak to your father. _We_ will speak to your father and we will see that he understands that you need to look into this matter. When I will ride back to Rohan, I will leave behind your guards and I want you to promise me that you will go nowhere without them, or without any further guard you father might assign you".

"I have rarely ever moved without guards, Éomer. As long as you don't pretend that I move around with a half regiment behind me, I'm fine with it".

"No, just those few guards who, right now, are probably wearing a hole outside of the stables, wondering if their King is going to start a new war by murdering a certain princess".

Lothíriel playfully slapped him on his chest: "Herubrand knows better than that".

"Yes, it's the other one I am more concerned about".

The smile on his lips quickly disappeared as he turned again serious and gave a squeeze to her shoulders, shaking them lightly: "Lothíriel: I want you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid or reckless. I know how it might sound to hear it coming from me, but that's exactly why I'm telling it: don't act on impulse, don't let your thirst for revenge blind you. You are smart, Lothíriel, you are one of the smartest person I have ever met: make use of it".

A mix of emotions passed into his dark eyes, but above all: concern, maybe even fear. After all he had lost, how hard it must have been for him to give her his support, knowing that no matter what, it would have exposed her to a certain degree of risk? He was trusting her, maybe not her intuition, but her ability and her skills to deal with the situation. He wasn't trying to impose on her, he was granting her his help so that she was free to do what she wanted to do, what she needed to do. And that was really all that mattered.

She mirrored him and lifted her hands to his shoulder: "You have my word, Éomer. I won't jeopardize everything by acting foolishly. Not…not even revenge, not even having Lord Arondir paying for what he has done, is worth risking this, us. Nothing is".

She gladly allowed to be crashed against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and hiding her face in the crook of his neck as he lifted her off the ground. He was holding her so tightly that she could barely breath, but it didn't matter. "You have no idea how much your support means to me, Éomer. Thank you", she mumbled against his neck, trying to snuggle even closer and sinking a hand in his golden mane.

"And I want you to keep me informed. I will have Bregdan and the other couriers riding daily if needed, but I want you to tell me about everything you might find out. And I want you to do so with your family and with Éowyn as well. I have a feeling that the two of you will get along terribly well: if you have any doubt, seek her council".

"I will, Éomer".

"Good girl. Now: as much as I would like to spend the rest of the day like this, I'd rather avoid having the whole Edoras wondering about what their King and a Gondorian princess are doing, locked together in the stables in the middle of the day. Come, Lothíriel: let's go back to Meduseld".

* * *

 _This damn basket!_

A long string of Rohirric curses, which she would never admit she knew in the first place, crossed her mind. She glanced at her thumb as a thick drop of red blood rolled off her finger and…straight to her white sleeve. _Of course!_

She struggled through the muddy streets of Edoras and the moment the first drop of rain treacherously crawl in the small gap between her neck and her scarf, she couldn't help but voicing out loud what she had been trying to keep for herself.

"Aye, what do we have here?".

 _Great, just great._ "Fram, I warn you, I am in no mood to deal with your drunken nonsense!".

"Ah, that's little Holdwyn. Do you need help, sweetheart?".

Fram's slur was barely discernible and a pungent smell of alcohol filled her nostrils: "It's barely lunchtime and you are already drunk. Do yourself a favour and go home, Fram!". _Or I swear I'm going to kick…_

"Is that the way to thank your saviour? Come…give that basket to Fram…".

The old man put a hand on her shoulder and made for grabbing the basket. But alas, coordination has never been the strong suit of any drunkard: "Let it be, Fram! You will end up toppling everything in the mud! I said, let it be! Fram!".

His name was all Holdwyn could shriek as the man stumbled on something, probably his own feet, hauling her and the basket in the sludge. She looked in horror as it rolled down of a few meters, spilling all its content: new, clean gowns, now soaking in the dirt and in the rain.

She would have kick him if he hadn't fallen on her legs, effectively immobilizing the lower part of her body. He laid across her knees, face in the mud, half growling and half spitting dirt and for a moment, she thought the day could have still gotten worse: old Fram could have retched on her.

"Get immediately off me! Look at what you have done! Birthwyn will murder me!".

She tried to push him off, but it was of no use: "I'm telling you, Fram! You either get immediately off me or…"

She barely had the time to register the sound of the footsteps of somebody approaching, when suddenly Fram was roughly pulled up and thrown against the wall of a cottage. He didn't even try to fight back: in fact, he looked scarcely conscious and barely managed to keep himself from stumbling again to the ground.

"You fool drunkard, I am going to teach you some manners!".

Holdwyn stared open mouthed but as Walda's fist collided with Fram's jaw, she immediately struggled to her feet: "Walda, what are you doing? Stop!". As yet another punch reached its target, she hurried to his side and grabbed his arm before he could do any more damage, pushing herself between the two men: "Walda, have you lost your mind?!".

"Lost my mind?! This scrum was assaulting you and I am the one who has lost his mind? I am just teaching him a lesson or two!".

Still holding on his arm, she pushed him further from Fram, who collapsed on the ground as soon as he got released from Walda's iron grip: "He's just an old drunkard! You know he is harmless!".

She risked a glance over her shoulder: the man had passed out and sat on the ground, the rain washing his bloody face. It didn't take a healer to see something was wrong with him.

"You broke his nose, Walda! What has got into you!? Everybody knows Fram!".

The door of the cottage suddenly opened: "What the…".

Dúnhere, the master armourer of Edoras, stepped out and his eyes shifted incredulously from Fram to Walda, from Walda to Holdwyn's hand holding his arm, and then back to Fram.

"Boy, you better have an explanation for this!", he growled as he kneeled next to Fram.

Holdwyn rushed to his side and tried to help him at getting the man on his feet and inside the building: "It's just a misunderstanding, Dúnhere. Fram tried to help me carrying a basket but you know him, we both ended up on the ground and he fell on me. Walda thought he was assaulting me and…overreacted".

"Overreacted?!".

"Overreacted?!".

They both shouted at her at the same time. _I should have never got out of bed this morning. Never._

"You call overreacting beating a drunk old man? He might be persistent, but the whole Edoras knows he is inoffensive!".

Dúnhere dragged Fram inside his house but before Holdwyn could follow, he turned and stopped her: "You two, you have done enough damage for today. I'll tend to him, go and finish you lovers' quarrel somewhere else! And Walda: stay clear of Fram, understood?".

Holdwyn looked at the door being shut in her face and all she could get out was a feeble: "We are sorry, Dúnhere!".

"Speak for yourself. I am not sorry".

 _Why am I surrounded by idiots?!_ She strode in front of Walda, hands on her hips: "Fram is more than sixty years old, he could be your grandfather! Surely this is not the first time you have seen him bothering someone in his drunkenness!".

"He wasn't bothering _someone_. He was bothering _you_!", he shouted back, pointing at her, his index finger tapping the base of her neck and lightly pushing her back.

A muffled voice came from inside the cottage: "I said: go and finish you lovers' quarrel somewhere else! Which part wasn't clear?".

Holdwyn felt her cheeks in flames and silently thanked the layer of mud hiding her blush. Hastily, she turned and walked to her basket, kneeling next to it and starting to throw inside what was left of the new gowns of Meduseld's maids.

 _Lovers' quarrel! I hope Fram will retch on you, Dúnhere!_ So absorbed in her brooding, she didn't even hear Walda moving and almost jumped out of her skin when she felt him kneeling behind her, his arms closing around her midsection. She froze, her hands clenching tight at the basket, her eyes wide, almost afraid to breath. Walda's hand gently slid along her right arm and forced her hand to release its grip: "You cut yourself".

The cursed thumb was still bleeding, even if not that profusely anymore: "If you are planning to rush me to Aldor, I am telling you: there's no need for it! I merely cut myself on the basket's broken handle".

Walda sighed and she felt his chest expanding against her back: "Alright, I might have slightly overreacted".

"Slightly?".

"Slightly. I will apologize to Fram, I shouldn't have beaten him so".

"Why?".

"Why what?".

"Why did you jump at him so?".

"Are you really asking it?".

Holdwyn swallowed. It wasn't as if she hadn't an idea. Just, she didn't dare hoping. Between the King's sour mood first and his obvious feelings for Lothíriel then, Walda had been the most chased bachelor in the whole Edoras. Half, if not all, of the unmarried maids of Meduseld -maybe not only the unmarried ones- were eating out of his hand. Lothíriel had been trying to create occasions for the two of them to spend time together and while they had surely become friends, she had always felt absolutely sure that he wasn't interested in her. Not in that sense.

"Holdwyn?".

"I…I don't know what you are trying to say…".

She tried to wriggle away from him but he held her there, forcing her to turn instead. Holdwyn found herself staring resolutely at his chest, not quite daring looking up.

"I'm up here, Holdwyn".

Hid hand gently lifted her chin and as soon as their eyes met, she found his lips pressing against hers. She would have fallen back into the mud, hadn't he held her firmly to his chest, and for a moment she wasn't sure whether she should have thrown her arms around his neck or whether she should have pushed him away. The latter won and she found herself staring into his confused eyes.

"If you think you can jump on me as you deem it fit, like you do with all the other maids, then you are sorely mistaken!".

"Béma, Holdwyn! You do know how to ruin a moment! First of all: I haven't jumped on any maid. Second: do you really think me that fool? Not even Sauron himself could save me from Lothíriel's wrath, were I to toy with you. I swear, that woman scares me more than Éomer King. She will be my dead!".

Admittedly he had a point there, but before she could say anything, someone else spoke.

"Look what we have here. Looks like little innocent Holdwyn has finally managed to catch her pray".

As she recognized the voice, Holdwyn couldn't refrain from rolling her eyes and sighing deeply: "This day just keeps getting worse".

Walda gave her a half astonished and half offended look, but indeed the corners of his mouth were twitching and his dimples betrayed him: "I must have lost my touch!".

Without stalling any longer, he helped her standing up and, once he had collected the basket with all its soaked content, he passed an arm over her shoulders: "Let's go, Holdwyn. I'll help you explaining to Birthwyn what has happened".

"Such a sweet sight. Holdwyn, I've heard you are to stay in Minas Tirith with your lady. How convenient that our friend here has decided to make his move right before your departure. Don't you think?".

"Save your breath, Aefre. I am to stay in Minas Tirith as well. Now, if you will excuse us…".

"Ah, so we are providing our Gondorian guest with a Rohirric guard. How thoughtful. Indeed, after what has happened, chances must be pretty high that it will only be a matter of time before the next attempt on the Princess' life…".

"Watch your tongue, Aefre…", Holdwyn snapped.

"Ah, I'm not implying anything, Holdwyn. Just stating what we all know. I wonder if the two of you have really thought it over, for it's quite a dangerous job you are taking here. Who knows who will pay the highest price, the next time. Maybe one of her guards, maybe her trustful maid…".

Aefre's eyes shifted maliciously from Walda to Holdwyn but then, suddenly, Walda erupted in laughter: "Let me see if I got that right: you are not so subtly implying that for our own safety, we shall relinquish our roles and stay behind in Edoras. Then what? How would that help your glorious plan of becoming Queen of Rohan? Or do you think that for whatever reason, once Lothíriel is back in Gondor, we will suddenly decide that we like you so very much to help your cause? Aefre: just two weeks ago you tried to retaliate of Holdwyn by sneaking up naked in my bed in the middle of the night. Do you know who behaves that way? I give you a hint: it's not a Queen".

Aefre covered the small distance between them and Walda promptly took a half step forward, protectively hiding her from the other woman, his voice a low growl: "You forget I know you, Aefre. You were a despicable girl, and you have turned into a worse woman. Your father was an honourable man and so is your brother: try to show them some respect and stop bringing shame to your family. But whatever you decide", he made a further half step towards Aefre, towering over her, "stay away from us. From me, from Holdwyn, from Lothíriel, from Éomer King".

Aefre's hand smacked Walda's cheek but he didn't move. She saw the woman's eyes moving from him to her, and then back to him. For a moment, she thought she would have hit him again, but instead she turned on her heels and briskly walked down the narrow street, disappearing around the next corner.

Holdwyn stood still, not quite sure of what had just happened. But then Walda lifted his hand, his palm towards her: "Come, Holdwyn".

She looked at his palm and hesitated just for a moment, before putting her own hand into his, their fingers slowly intertwining with each other. As he finally started walking towards Meduseld, she glanced at him: "You have long known each other?".

"Not really. But our fathers were friends".

"What did you mean when you said she was a despicable girl?".

"Just that. She has always been a manipulative, scheming girl. I didn't see much of her after I started training to become a rider, but I wasn't surprised to see that she had approached Éomer King. I never thought much of it, as it seemed to be clear what the nature of their relationship was. It wasn't until I heard of Folca's story, that I realized that she has never really changed. Just gotten worse".

"What did she do? As a girl, I mean…".

"Ah, nothing blatant. But once she had decided that she wanted the attention of somebody, she would be willing to do anything to get it. Now it's the attention of men, earlier it was the one of her father, or her brother, or of some of her friends".

"Why do you think she does it? I mean, I have only spoken a few times with her father, but Wídfara is so…".

"So different from her? I don't know, Holdwyn. But Aefre's mother died giving birth to her and Léofara has always been concerned that she would have missed a motherly figure. That's why he allowed his sister's wife to effectively raise her. Did you know her? Hild was her name, she died a few years ago".

"No, but I've heard about her. Mother once told me that she was the most beautiful and haughty woman she had ever seen".

"Heard the same. No man has ever been good enough for her. I remember her during her last years: if you think Éomer King was sullen and bitter, you should have seen her".

The rain gradually stopped and they walked the rest of their way in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Holdwyn knew she was in for the scolding of her life and that no matter the explanation, Birthwyn would be rightfully furious about the ruined gowns. And the whole thing about Aefre had undoubtedly left her with much to think about. However, right then, the only thing she could focus on, was Walda's warm hand holding hers. _Did it really happen?_

Walda caught her glancing furtively at him and gave her hand a gentle squeeze: "I am on guard tomorrow morning. Will you be busy during the Council afternoon session?".

Holdwyn swallowed and shook her head.

"Good". One arm still holding the basket, Walda pulled her against him and kissed her forehead, regretting it almost immediately: "But you will bath, yes?".

She would have punched him if, upon rounding the corner, they hadn't suddenly found themselves staring at Herubrand, Éothain and a bunch of other riders which were part of Lothíriel's guard.

"Walda, I see for once you are trying to make yourself useful. Though I'd say, that laundry doesn't look as clean as it should!".

"Ah, ah, ah! Very funny, Éothain, but I happen to be helping a lady in distress. A rather foreign notion to you, I am sure".

"Hear hear. Somebody's a bit touchy today!".

"And what would you be doing here? Shouldn't you be ensuring our King's safety?".

"Oh but I am, he is inside", Éothain answered, his thumb pointing at the closed doors of the stable, "quarrelling with our Gondorian princess".

Holdwyn couldn't help but groaning: "You should warn Éobold that we might need to rebuild the stables once they are done fighting".

"Aye, that we might need".

Walda stared pensively at the doors: "If Lothíriel is with Sparkler, we might very well need a new King as well".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** I couldn't resist but writing something from Holdwyn's POV. And of course, I had to drag Walda in it. I think I will keep doing it from time to time, as it's nice to have a perspective other than Lothíriel and Éomer.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 _The Mering Stream, 7_ _th_ _April, 3020_

Lothíriel halted Sparkler and stared at the river. Swollen by the spring rains and by the snow melted on the mountains, it flew impetuous and fiery, its surface shining under the bright sun.

Her mind drifted back to that grey afternoon when she had first entered Rohan, less than four months earlier, and she felt herself being torn by so many different emotions.

So much had changed.

Gone were the empty villages, their once gloomy ruins now swarmed with people working eagerly to re-establish Rohan's prosperity. The day was bright and clear, the ground covered with green grass and blossoming flowers. Gamling wasn't riding by her side anymore, teasing her about the muddy state of her clothes. Andes wasn't resignedly following them.

Her fingers brushed the tiny scar on her forehead. So much had changed. _She_ had changed.

She had left Gondor with the excitement of a young girl, knowing deep inside her that she was in for the last adventure of her life, for soon her father would have decided to formally introduce her to court and before long, her faith would have been sealed to the one of some Gondorian nobleman. She had entered Rohan more determined than ever, ready to prove once more what she was worth for, not even slightly worried about failing or about the challenges to come.

Now, just a few months later, while she found in herself the same degree of determination, she couldn't ignore the many worries troubling her mind, keeping her sometimes awake at night, turning again and again in her bedroll.

Suddenly, she had so much to lose.

A future next to a man who not only hold her heart, but her soul as well. A man after whom no one would ever compare.

A future in a land where she would be able to be herself, to be appreciated for who she was. A land which had quietly crawl under her skin, changing her in ways that sometimes had her shaking disbelievingly her head. Only half year earlier, if she had felt in need of lifting her mood, she would have undoubtedly rushed to buy a new gown or a new necklace. These days, she would reach the stables and sunk her hand into Sparkler's mane.

Sometimes, she had this silly thought that he was the equestrian counterpart of what Gamling had been for her in the men's world. They had been in perfect harmony since the very first moment, he had granted her a loyalty like no other horse had ever done before, trusting her and showing her a fierce protectiveness.

A giggle escaped her as she remembered the astonished expression on Éomer's face when he had showed her the horse that he intended to give her as a betrothal gift. A beautiful grey mare, perfectly matched with Firefoot, lean and elegant. She had hesitantly looked at her, for she had known that she was observing an exceptional animal. But then she hadn't been able to refrain from asking whether she could have had Sparkler instead. Éomer's jaw had nearly dropped to the ground and he had insisted that she deserved a mount fit for a Queen. Unwise words, no doubt, for he had soon found himself facing her wraith for disrespecting Sparkler and in the end he had agreed that yes, she could have had Sparkler as a betrothal gift.

Lothíriel turned in her saddle for a last glance towards Rohan. Yes: she was coming back to Gondor as a changed person, with many new worries crowding her mind. But with so many joys as well.

Gamling wasn't riding by her side anymore, but he was everywhere around her. For without him, she wouldn't have been there.

She urged Sparkler forward and breathed deeply as his hoofs finally touched the Gondorian ground. Not far ahead, she could see Éomer, Éowyn and Éothain riding next to each other, cheerfully chatting and laughing.

As Éomer had predicted, Éowyn and her had immediately liked each other. Probably too much, for his sake of mind. At first, she had felt slightly anxious about getting to finally meet his sister, the famed Slayer of the Witch King of Angmar. Despite what everybody had told her, she had felt intimidated. In her mind, she had pictured a beautiful woman: tall, blond, proud and stern. A sort of female version of the _King of Grumpiness_. But when she had seen her climbing the stairs leading to Meduseld in quick, hurried steps, a big smile on her face, waving her hand at her brother, she had immediately understood her mistake.

Life and birthplace had brought them to walk very different paths: one had become a war-hero, the other an Ambassador. One had trained in the art of weapons, the other in the art of diplomacy. One had faced first-hand the horrors of war, the other had always been kept protected by her father's guards. But at core, they were the same. And by a twist of fate, love had brought their paths together.

Over the past weeks, they had spent a great deal of time together. On one evening, they had practically shooed Éomer out of his library and set for a _fox and geese_ ladies' night. Holdwyn and Maegwen had joined as well and the moment Birthwyn had entered the room with two flasks of wine, they had immediately understood how things would have gone. At some point, Éowyn had started to tell them about the day Gilraen had found her on the training grounds with Erchirion and had thought it to be her duty to save the reputation of the future Princess of Ithilien. She had grabbed the first thing she had found, which ironically happened to be a horse blanket, and had practically thrown it on her, giving Erchirion the scolding of his life for having dragged Éowyn there. _Reckless, reprobate_ and _crackpot,_ had been just a few of the adjective she had blurted out and really, just the idea of perfect Gilraen exploding in a fit of improbable insults, had been too much. She had laughed until tears had started to roll down her cheek and her stomach had started to ache. In the end, after Birthwyn had none too gently ordered Walda to provide them with more wine, she had been so drunk that the poor man had had to carry her to her room. She had no recollection of it, but apparently he had been beyond desperation, mumbling to an even drunker Holdwyn that she could have expected to see his head on a spear, once Éomer would have heard about it.

"What's so funny?".

Lothíriel snapped out of her thoughts and found Holdwyn staring suspiciously at her.

"Nothing, I was just remembering the evening we got drunk while playing _fox and geese_ …".

"Ssssh! Have mercy, Lothíriel. Walda has been melodramatically complaining about it for days! Let's not remind him, for my own peace of mind".

* * *

Later that day, as the camp was being prepared and the tents mounted, Lothíriel took the chance to stretch her legs and lazily strolled at the edge of the forest.

Upon reaching a small pond, she spotted Wídfara sitting on a stone, tinkering with a knife.

No matter how much she liked the man, she couldn't help but feeling a bit uncomfortable in his presence, after everything that had happened between them and his sister. However, she also knew that the reason he was there with them was her doing in the first place and so, taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and sat in front of him.

"Good evening, Wídfara".

"My Lady".

"What are you carving, if I may ask?".

Wídfara opened his hand and Lothíriel looked at the barely shaped piece of wood, tilting her head on one side, searching for the right perspective: "A cat?".

The man smiled and resumed his task: "Do you know Goldwyn, my Lady?".

 _Goldwyn._ The name sounded somewhat familiar, but she couldn't remember when or if she had met somebody with that name.

"I don't think so, Wídfara".

"She cooks the best meat pies of all Edoras, she has a stand in the Riddermarket".

"Ah yes, I remember now! I stopped by her kiosk a few times but we were never introduced. Though I have to agree: her pies are delicious!".

Wídfara chuckled and nodded, but didn't say anything.

"So…you are carving a cat for Goldwyn?".

"Now that would be hardly an appropriate gift to woo a woman, wouldn't it? No, my Lady, it's for her daughter. She is three years old and she seems to adore cats, even more than horses, if you can believe that!".

Lothíriel brought a hand on her chest, a horrified expression on her face: "No! How can that be?!".

This time, Wídfara laughed: "My thought, exactly! She has this black devil. I swear: were he to be bigger, he would have already murdered me a dozen times. Here, look at that…". He rolled up his sleeve and Lothíriel saw that his forearm was covered with a zigzag of scratches.

"A true little panther! Is it him you are carving?".

"Aye, my Lady. Who knows, he might appreciate it and allow us to live in peace!".

Lothíriel arched an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

"Her husband was a rider in Prince Théodred's Éored and died at the Fords of Isen, last year. He was a good man". He paused for a moment, staring at the ground and sighing deeply, before adding: "We will marry as soon as I am back from Minas Tirith".

"Why this is a happy news! I am glad to hear it, Wídfara. Truly".

He looked at her for a moment, as if pondering carefully his next words: "Éomer King came to my shop a few days ago".

Now she was _really_ uncomfortable: "Yes, I know Wídfara".

Even though it had never been clear how much Wídfara knew about his sister and Éomer, over the past weeks Aefre had been so blatant in her actions that it was impossible he hadn't heard about it. And so Éomer had finally decided to speak with the man, to be honest about what had passed between him and his sister over the past months and about what was their current situation. As a brother himself, she knew it hadn't been easy for him to face Wídfara. After he had come back from his shop, he had barely spoken and it had taken him a couple of days before telling her what they had told to each other.

"It's difficult".

"What is difficult, Wídfara?".

"Accepting what he has told me. The way he has treated my sister. I have always considered him one of the most honourable man I have ever met but now…".

He hesitated, his eyes nervously darting around.

"I have three older brothers, Wídfara. If any man had treated me the way he has treated Aefre, in the best case they would have thrown him down the cliffs of Dol Amroth. In the worst…something bloodier, I suppose".

"And yet, you will marry him?".

"Yes, Wídfara".

"Why?".

Lothíriel looked at her hands in her lap, weighting carefully her next words, for she knew they weren't simply talking about what feelings were bounding her and Éomer. Wídfara would have never meddled into them. No: they were talking about the King.

"The forgiveness for the way he has behaved, it's yours to give Wídfara. And the same goes for your sister. I don't think anybody would ever fault you, were you to decide against it. I wouldn't, Éomer King wouldn't. I am not trying to justify him, only to explain that…it has been hard for him, to lose his cousin and his uncle and to suddenly become King. He would do everything for his country and his people, Wídfara. Never doubt that. The war, the losses, the responsibilities that came with his role, the state in which the Mark was only a few months back…they have been a heavy burden for him. But he _is_ a good King and an honourable man, Wídfara: if people made it through the winter, if Rohan is being rebuilt as we speak, if the future doesn't look so uncertain anymore, it's because he is a wise ruler. He is very hard with himself and I don't think he will ever forgive himself for those months, for the way he has treated your sister and the rest of the people around him. I understand if you doubt the man, I really do. But do not doubt the King, Wídfara".

"Well, I surely don't doubt his choice as a Queen".

Lothíriel felt a deep blush spreading on her cheeks and mumbled a _thank you_ , earning a small laugh from the man. But he quickly turned serious again and his next question raised the bar of discomfort to a new record: "What do you think of my sister, my Lady?".

For a moment, she considered fleeing. But it wouldn't have been a very _queenly_ behaviour and so she forced herself to keep sitting on her rock.

"It's hard for me to say, Wídfara. We started with the wrong foot and from there, things went worse. I…".

"I've heard of what has happened in the stables".

 _Valar!_

"Is it true?".

"What, Wídfara?".

"That she has accused you of being responsible of Gamling's death, that she has accused you of aiming at the crown, that she has disrespected Gamling. Is it true?".

Lothíriel sighed: even after weeks, she could still feel a flash of anger when she thought about that day. "She said he was a _stupid old man_ and that she wouldn't have let me fool her like I had done with him".

"I see".

An uncomfortable silence descended on them and Lothíriel mentally thanked Holdwyn when she heard her calling her name: "If you will excuse me, Wídfara, I shall go now".

She briskly stood up but she didn't manage to do more than a couple of steps before his voice stopped her: "For what matters, I am sorry for her words, my Lady". He turned the cat in his hands, studying carefully the barely outlined tail: "You have been very generous and kind to me, Princess. Independently from how things will turn out between me and the King, or between you and my sister, I wouldn't want them to undermine the respect I have for you".

"Neither would I, Wídfara".

"I'm glad to hear it, my Lady".

* * *

"Ceorl, would you mind coming here and help me?".

"But…".

"Come, it's only a matter of a moment, then you can go back guarding my brother's tent. There are enough soldiers around, anyway".

From inside his tent, Éomer raised an eyebrow as he heard his sister's voice. _What is she up to?_

When the flap of his tent opened and a small, hooded figure sneaked furtively in, he didn't know whether groaning or being simply happy: "Introducing you to my sister was the worst mistake of my whole life".

"You realize it only now? I congratulate for your acumen, Éomer".

"Isn't that Holdwyn's cloak?".

"Yes. We figured it was more inconspicuous than mine".

"Anybody else behind this little escapade that I should be informed about?".

"No. But if it upsets you, I can always go back…".

Éomer's hand snapped and he unceremoniously pulled her towards him as he fell back on his chair: "Minx".

Lothíriel giggled, wriggling in his lap and bringing her arms around his neck: "Is that all you have to say, my Lord?".

Her lips were almost touching his and he could smell the light sweet wine she had been drinking during dinner. Slowly, it started to be difficult to concentrate on the whole fact that she shouldn't have been there: "Are you sure none of those Gondorian saw you?".

"Absolutely. The ladies have already retired and their lords were quite deep into their cups", she murmured, her grey eyes boldly gazing into his, tempting him, challenging him.

Éomer looked at her, staring transfixed as she bit her lower lip, one of her hand sinking in his hair, the other slowly trailing along his neck, one inch at a time, her nails gently scratching it. He felt a shiver shooting thorough his body and it took him all his self-restraint to keep still, to keep himself from ravishing her, there and now.

But when she spoke, her voice such a low whisper that he wasn't even sure whether she had really told it, all his resolutions slowly started to crumble: "Kiss me".

His hands grasped tightly her hips and he stretched his neck, gently touching her forehead with his lips: "Like this, my Lady?".

"No". Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted.

He pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose: "Mmmh, how about this?".

"No".

He could hear his own heart racing in anticipation, his blood pumping through his veins, but he forced his hands to stay where they were, gripping even tighter on her hips: tilting his head, he brushed his nose on her neck, from top to bottom and then back, barely touching it, breathing deeply in her sweet scent before kissing that point under her earlobe that he knew would have her melting in his arms: "Better?".

He felt her shivering and holding tighter on his hair, a little whimper escaping her lips. Eyes still closed, she gave him a little nod and bended her neck on one side, pulling him back to her.

"As my Lady wishes".

His hands started to move on her body, slowly but firmly, sensually caressing her thighs, her back, the curve of her breasts, as he languidly kissed every inch of her neck, of her throat, of her shoulders. And then up again, following the line of her jaw, until he finally found her lips. Her breath was laboured, another moan escaped her and even though Éomer was aware of his self-control inexorably slipping away, he could not stop.

His arms pressed her harder against him and when he felt her teeth nibbling at his lower lip, a low groan rumbled in his chest.

Lothíriel shifted in his lap and straddled him, arching her back as his lips found again her throat, as his hands pulled her dress a few inches lower, until her shoulders were completely exposed, until he could glimpse the roundness of her breasts. Her hands cupping the back of his head, keeping him firmly in place, she instinctively rocked her hips against his.

Éomer tried to suppress another groan but he nevertheless found himself lifting Lothíriel in his arms, her legs still locked around his waist, and stumbling towards his cot.

He put her down on it and hid his face in the crook of her neck as her own hands grew bolder and crawled under his tunic, caressing his abdomen, moving to his back, her nails again scratching and teasing. Lifting himself on one forearm, he slipped his other arm under her, cupping tightly her buttock, digging his finger into her firm cheek while at the same time pressing his hardened manhood against her.

She gasped, arching her back and rolling her head back, her legs locking tighter around his waist, pulling him closer to her, if it was even possible. He drunk in the sight of her under him, in his arms, melting under his touch and instinctively pleading for more, feeling a possessiveness that was unknown to him and that almost took his breath away.

His lips descended again on hers, hungrily and demanding, while his hands started to lift her gown, relishing in every new inch of uncovered skin. Her hands sneaked in between them and he felt them fumbling with his belt, one tentatively pressing against him, probing him, feeling him through the layer of clothing.

As he felt the strap of his belt yielding and her hand crawling inside his pants, a last shred of sanity had him suddenly opening his eyes and grabbing her wrists, pulling her arms above her head and nearly collapsing on the top of her, struggling to regain control of his breathing, of himself.

As Lothíriel tried to break free of his grip, all he could manage to get out was a strangled "Can't", while still holding on her wrist with one hand and disentangling her legs from his waist with the other.

She didn't say anything but her body seemed to relax and slowly, he released her arms and shifted his weight off her. The cot was too small for the two of them to lie next to each other and so Lothíriel snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his heaving chest, her hands clenching at the front of his tunic.

"I'm starting to ask myself why".

"Why what?".

"Why you can't. Why we can't.".

His arms circled her small form and he planted a kiss on her brow: "You know why, Lothíriel".

"Maybe I just don't care anymore".

"Your father would and I don't want to betray his trust".

"Well I'm not saying he has to know…".

"I daresay he might notice the consequences".

"I don't have to get with child…there are…ways…", she left the sentence unfinished, her hand waving in the air and even without looking at her, he knew she was blushing and probably chewing again on her lip.

"And what would you know of these…ways?", he asked, his hand mimicking hers.

That earned him a light slap on his shoulder: "I'm not that clueless!".

Laughter bubbled inside: "Oh believe me, I have long learned to keep in mind that you are not! But I think you might be putting too much trust on me".

Her head lifted and she glanced up at him, furrowing his brow: "What do you mean?".

"I mean", he sighed deeply, "that I wouldn't trust my ability to…apply those ways. When it comes to you, my self-control is always on the run".

He raised an eyebrow as he heard her giggling: "Are you flattered?".

"Maybe a bit".

"Béma, sometimes I wonder where did your Gondorian prudery go".

"On the run, together with your self-control, I suppose".

He smiled, sinking his nose into her hair and closing his eyes.

During all those years he spent training, riding from one corner of Rohan to the other, fighting enemy after enemy, striving through each day, slowly but inexorably losing the ability to see through that darkness, to hope in a brighter future, while the thought of starting a family had sometimes occurred to him, he would have never dared to even dream of something like this, of someone like Lothíriel. He had thought that one day he would have eventually met a woman and married her, he would have loved her, she would have given him children and together they would have struggled to make it through. The shadow of his own childhood had always loomed over him, the tragic death of his parents overshadowing any happiness, any joyous moment they had had together as a family.

But now, lying on his cot, holding Lothíriel in his arms, listening to the sounds of the camp, of the people hurrying around them, oblivious to their presence, everything felt so light. He felt light. Like he couldn't remember he had ever felt before. Suddenly, it wasn't tragedy overshadowing everything else: it was happiness. And with it, the awareness that whatever difficulty they would be faced with, they would overcome it, they would find their way through. Together.

The words slipped through his lips without he even realized it: "I love you, Lothíriel".

She climbed on him and gently brushed her lips to his, her hands cupping his face and her eyes looking straight into his, into him: "I love you, Éomer".

He wasn't sure for how long they stayed so, for how long he held her in his arms, tenderly cradling her, his senses full of her, his mind full of her and void of anything else. At some point, he felt her shivering and pulled up a blanket on the two of them, feeling his eyelids slowly getting heavier, his body relaxing.

"Éomer?".

"Mmh?".

"I spoke to Wídfara, earlier today".

"And?".

She did not answer at first and for a moment, he almost thought she had fallen asleep.

"Everything will be good, Éomer. We will be good".

* * *

"Wake up, you moron!".

 _Ah good morning to you as well, sister._ Éomer slowly cracked open an eye, then the other. The tent was still dark, the camp around them silent and quiet and a very belligerent Éowyn was staring down at him.

"Isn't it still early? What are you doing here?".

She threw her arms in the air, as if he was exasperating her: "This", she said, pointing her finger at his chest, "is not what I had in mind, when I helped Lothíriel sneaking in your tent!".

Éomer lifted his head: Lothíriel was lying on him, in the exact same position as the evening before, her head on his chest, arms hooked around his shoulders, their legs intertwined. She mumbled a complain as she felt him moving, snuggling closer to him.

A smile spread on his face and he kept his eyes on her: "Peace, Éowyn. Nothing happened. We simply fell asleep together".

"And you think that flock of prudish Gondorian ladies would believe it, when they see her sneaking out of your tent in the morning? Even more so when they see you wearing that stupid smile on your face? How long do you think it will take for the rumour to reach Imrahil? You think him, or any of her brothers, would find it amusing?".

He had to admit it: hearing her father and brothers being mentioned and recalling their skills on the battlefield, was more than enough to fully wake him up.

"Are you sure they are still sleeping? The Gondorian flock and their husbands?".

"Yes, Éomer. I doubt they have ever woken up so early in the morning. But their servants and their guards will soon be up and around. Wake her up, she needs to go back to her tent, the sooner the better. And since I doubt I can distract Ceorl again, you better ensure that he keeps his mouth shut about all of this!".

"Béma, Éowyn. Who do you take him for?".

"Don't be naïve, Éomer. I'm not saying he would spill it to the Gondorian. But I have no doubt he would entertain the rest of the riders with the tale of their future Queen, sneaking out of their King's tent at dawn, dressed up as her maid. Half of those Gondorian merchants understand Rohirric good enough. One word overheard by the wrong ear and you'll have started a war with Dol Amroth!".

"Fine, fine! I'll speak to him. Nobody else will know about it, apart from us and Holdwyn, that is".

"You forget Walda".

He couldn't help but groaning: "Not him as well!".

"You should be thankful! If it wasn't for him waking up Holdwyn so that they could play the love birds for a while, the girl would have realized too late that Lothíriel had never come back to their tent!".

"Fine! Just give me a moment ok?". Éowyn took a step back and, folding her arms across her chest, she gave him an impatient look.

"Alone, if you don't mind".

Throwing him one of those Witch King's slayer look, she stormed out of his tent.

Rubbing a hand of his face, Éomer gazed one last time at Lothíriel's peaceful expression, trying to memorize every single detail of that moment: the curve of her lips, the rebel strands of hair framing her face, her small hands gently holding on his shirt, the cradling rhythm of her breath, her scent.

His eyes found the little scar on her forehead and he sighed deeply, his lips gently pressing against it: "Wake up, sleepy head".

Again, she mumbled something intelligible and then hid her face against his chest: "Lothíriel, wake up. It will be soon morning, you have to go back to your tent before the camp wakes up".

A groan, half muffled by his tunic, told him she was indeed awake: "Is that how you wake up? Not very Princess-like, I must say".

Her head slowly raised and she looked at him through sleepy but somewhat narrowed eyes.

"Do you bite in the morning?".

"Are you always so aggravatingly petulant in the morning?".

"No, only when I have to ensure a Princess to her tent and avoid a court scandal that could cost me her hand".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** well here I am. Haven't updated in a while but life is being really hectic. To my defence, over the last two weeks I moved to a new flat and started a new job, which is why I have been (and will be for the next foreseeable future) rather busy.

I must admit that having received a scarce feedback over the past few chapters, I was feeling a bit demotivated. Writing takes a lot of time and effort and reviews are truly important to keep going in the right direction. So, to any who left/will leave a review, thank you! I will nevertheless finish this story, worry not. For once, I hate leaving things unfinished. Plus, writing this story is still proving an interesting journey and a good exercise for me. However, I am afraid you can't expect updates with the same frequency as it used to be. I will try to upload twice a month or so, but having to commute 90 minutes to work each day, you understand time is quite a rare good for me at the moment! I hope I will be able to write a bit while travelling, so the credit for any further chapter goes to the excellent Swiss trains as well! :)

 _LadyAlixa:_ glad to hear you are enjoying the story and that the plot twist had the desired effect!

 _MissCallaLilly:_ I'm afraid she will be for quite a while!

 _Mary07:_ happy to hear you are enjoying my portrait of Éomer and Lothíriel. I'm afraid not much happened in this chapter, but in the next one we will arrive in Minas Tirith!

 _D (Guest):_ hopefully you didn't want me to upset you! :) Here is another chapter!


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 _Minas Tirith, 12_ _th_ _April 3020_

It was a beautiful day: the sky was clear, the air cool, the lukewarm rays of the morning sun filtered through windows, the scent of the blossoming lilacs and the song of the blackbirds filled the air.

Éomer walked through the bright corridor, the sound of his booted steps echoing around him. Was it his impression or that damned tunic was trying to suffocate him? His hand moved to the collar, trying in vain to loosen its vice around his neck: the tunic was just fine. Breathing deeply, he forced his arms down, opening and closing his hands, a sudden rush of sympathy for Faramir spreading through him. No matter how difficult the whole situation was, he doubted Imrahil would ever be half as intimidating as he had been with his sister's betrothed, the day he had bravely asked for her hand.

Upon finally arriving in Minas Tirith, on the late afternoon of the day before, he had only managed to have a quick exchange with Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth had been understandably taken by the reunion with his daughter and had soon excused himself, saying he wanted to celebrate the return of Lothíriel with a private family dinner. He had barely had the time to tell him that he needed to speak to him, receiving a _'pass by my study tomorrow early morning'_ as an answer, as he was already hurrying up the city with Lothíriel under his arm.

 _Speaking of the devil_. As he turned around the last corner, Éomer found himself staring at his soon-to-be brother in law.

"Good morning, Éomer".

"Faramir". The man was suspiciously smug and Éomer narrowed his eyes: "Do you have an appointment with Imrahil?".

"Me? No. But you do".

"And I suppose it was silly of me to think Éowyn would have kept her mouth shut".

Faramir's smile grew: "I'm not going to comment on that, not until I am officially married to your sister. I wouldn't want you to retaliate on me by sending her back to Rohan".

"I happen to care about my own skin. Béma knows what she would do".

Faramir chuckled and shook his head, before turning suddenly serious; he took a step closer and put a hand on his shoulder: "Éowyn has given me a more detailed account of what has happened and of what…is going to happen. Éomer: you are doing the right thing".

"What do you refer to, precisely: asking for her hand after she has almost being murdered while under my protection, or risking all my chances by pleading him to let her have her own way?".

He shrugged his shoulder, as if the answer was obvious: "Both".

His eyebrows raised and he looked baffled at him: "Both?".

"I have known Lothíriel ever since she was a child, Éomer. There had been times when I thought that maybe she would have never married, that she would have been happy on her own, like our aunt. But I doubt Imrahil would have allowed it and probably in the end, she would have relented and married some Gondorian noble. Who knows, maybe she might have been even content with her match, but I'm not sure she would have ever been happy. Really happy".

Faramir walked around him and gazed out of a window overlooking the gardens of Imrahil's house, his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you love her, Éomer?".

"More than I ever thought possible".

"Good. Let's go then, there's a Prince waiting for you".

Éomer stopped him right before he could knock on the door of Imrahil's study: "Wait: you said I was doing the right thing, also at letting her look into the matter of the attempt on her life. Does that mean you believe her suspicions?".

Faramir sighed and seemed to consider his question carefully: "I don't know, Éomer. Rationally, I find it unlikely. However, ever since Bregdan rode in all haste through the gates, delivering us your letters, I have found myself thinking more and more about it. I know Imrahil and Aragorn have looked into it and I'm sure you are going to have a full recount of it. Imrahil even had Amrothos tailing some of the ships departing from Lord Arondir's dock in Pelargir. And yet, I have this feeling that something is amiss".

"So, you believe she is right at wanting to further investigate the man".

Faramir's head slowly turned to him, his grey eyes staring straight into his: "Does it even matter, Éomer? This is something she needs to do, no matter what we all believe. All we can choose, is weather to give her our support or not. And for that, you have already made your choice". He gave him an encouraging smile: "Shall we?".

Éomer took a deep breath and nodded.

* * *

"Well, this is an unexpected turn of events to say the least…".

Imrahil's eyes shifted from Éomer to Lothíriel, from Lothíriel to Éomer. For some long moments, he did not say a word, his face inscrutable.

Lothíriel came standing next to him, looking like a proper bundle of nerves, and Éomer instinctively reached for her hand, giving it a light squeeze: "Father, I know this must all come as a surprise, but…".

"I don't like it". A tense silence fell on the room as all the eyes turned on Imrahil. "Before I say anything else, let me ask you one question, Éomer: has something happened, that shall make me better consider the idea of a rushed wedding?".

"No, Imrahil. I have the highest respect for you. You have done much for my family, for Éowyn. I would never disrespect you, I would never compromise your daughter's reputation. I'm not asking for your daughter's hand to prevent a scandal, I'm asking because I love her, because I want her to be my wife and the Queen of my people".

"And what of your people? Wouldn't they wish for one of them to be the Queen of Rohan?".

Éomer allowed himself a small laugh: " _One of them?_ Imrahil, trust me when I say that Lothíriel has steadily conquered a place among them. And that has really nothing to do with me and all with her. I have half of my Council eating from her hand and a household which would probably feed me to the orcs, were I to disrespect her. Lothíriel is already _one of them_ , _one of us"._

Lothíriel held tighter on his hand and a small smile curved the corners of Aragorn and Faramir's mouths, but Imrahil did not seem to be affected in the least by his passionate plea.

"Even so, I'm not convinced. What assurances do I have that she would be safe in Rohan? Lothíriel was born and raised in Dol Amroth and we both know that life in Rohan is different, that…".

"I'm right here, in case you didn't notice it, Father!".

All the eyes turned to Lothíriel who, in the blink of an eye, had gone from being a bundle of nerves to being a bundle of rage. She abruptly released his hand and stepped forward, her fists clenched by her side: "When you are done asking about Éomer's opinion, about the Rohirrim's opinion, when you are done discussing life in Rohan, maybe you might be interested in what _I_ think, what _I_ want!".

"Lothíriel, I do not doubt your feelings, but you are young…".

"You think this a childish infatuation, that tomorrow I will wake up and realise that I don't care about Éomer anymore, that life in Gondor is _oh so very sophisticated_ that I could not possibly let go of it, that my months in Edoras meant nothing?".

Imrahil straightened his back and gave her a thunderous look: "Loth…".

"How can you even doubt about my safety in Rohan? Rohan had nothing to do with the attempt on my life! My maid had, my _Gondorian_ maid! Gamling died trying to save me, Ceorl stopped Andes before it was too late. If you want to be concerned about something, then let it be my safety _in Gondor_! Let it be the filthy maggot who has commissioned my murder, who has caused Gamling's death!".

"Watch your language, young Lady!".

Father and daughter glared at each other and Éomer had just the time to realise from whom had Lothíriel inherited her temper, when Faramir stepped forward, presumably to try to calm things down. However, Imrahil had none of it: "No offence, Faramir, but this is none of your business".

"No, it's not. Because it's my business, and Éomer's! Have I ever shown interest for any man, Father?! Have I ever been the type of lady who flirts with young soldiers and noblemen?! Have I ever claimed to love someone before?!".

"No, you haven't".

"You know why? Because I never cared! Because even though I have always known that one day you would have started to receive requests for my hand and that eventually you would have accepted one of them, I have never looked at myself as a wife. I wanted to be me, to achieve things on my own, to prove that I was worth more as a person, more than just being a wife! _Him_ ", she said, her finger pointing at him, "he is the reason why I changed my mind, why I understood that with him, I could be both, I wanted to be both. I could be a wife while not giving up on who I am, on what I can do. He loves me for who I am and I love him for who he is, virtues and flaws included!".

"You have known each other for a few short months, what would you know of it, of each other's flaws? No, Lothíriel, this is far too rushed!".

Lothíriel's sarcastic laugh filled the air and he exchanged a worried look with Faramir.

"While if you were to give me as wife to some Gondorian noble who, in the best case, I would barely know as an acquaintance, I would know much about it, right? We have lived under the same roof for more than three months, attended Council together on a daily basis, worked together, travelled together. You think it has been a breeze? It hasn't, we have had our spats and discussions! Why, at first we didn't even like each other!".

Éomer gulped, not sure anymore where this was going. But Lothíriel was a river in flood and even Imrahil seemed taken aback: "You didn't?".

"Not at all! My first evening in Edoras I wanted nothing more than kicking him!".

Éomer looked again towards Faramir and Aragorn, his hand instinctively reaching again for the collar of his tunic. Only thinking of the things Lothíriel might have been about to blurt out to her father, he felt rather close to panic. However, Faramir and Aragorn looked at that point rather…entertained. The same could not be told of Imrahil, who had a horrified expression on his face and was turning a little bit more red by every moment that passed.

A strangled ' _Lothíriel!'_ Was all the Prince managed to get out.

"Yes! You got it right! We went from disliking each other to liking each other and to love each other. All the while we have been tirelessly working on ensuring Rohan's recovery, we have faced one struggle after the other, we have been attacked. You think we have been living in a fairy dream? We haven't! And yet, despite everything that has happened, despite Gamling's death is still tearing me apart, I have never felt happier! With Éomer. In Rohan. Among the Rohirrim".

Imrahil regarded Lothíriel as if she had just grown a second head and for the first time, Éomer thought he saw doubt in his eyes: "Imrahil, I understand that this all comes as unexpected. Me myself, I would have never thought things to go like this. Were Gamling to be here, I would spend the rest of my days thanking him for having brought Lothíriel to Rohan. She has helped us, me, more than I can hope to explain in words. And while this surely makes her the perfect candidate for the role of Queen, trust me when I say that it is actually a very minor reason for me asking for her hand. I love your daughter, Imrahil. And again, I can't find the words to tell you just how much. You know us both, this is no fleeting infatuation. That night, when somebody tried to assassinate her…", Éomer stopped, trying to put order to his thoughts, trying to think how to express what he had felt. He looked briefly towards Lothíriel, searched for the scar on her forehead, thought about that cursed night, about the way he had rushed through Meduseld's corridors, the fear he had felt once he had realized what was going on. How the world had ceased to exist the moment he had seen her.

"I am not giving my consent…". Imrahil's voice stopped his whirling thoughts and his head snapped towards the Prince, anger slowly building inside him. Aragorn seemed to sense it and tried to intervene but Imrahil raised a hand and shook his head: "…not yet".

"Not yet?", Lothíriel echoed him.

"How long are you going to stay in Minas Tirith, Éomer?".

"A month or so".

"Good. Éomer, Lothíriel: I still don't like the suddenness of all of this. However, I can't just ignore your plea or the feelings you profess to each other. If they are really true, a month will hardly change anything".

Éomer was about to exhale in relief, for even though it wasn't really the answer they had hoped for, he was indeed giving them a chance. But the frown on Lothíriel's face told him things were not quite settled yet: "And what would you want us to do in this month, Father?".

"First of all, to behave. As long as a betrothal is not announced, you are to behave accordingly".

"And then?", Lothíriel prompted him.

"There will be e feast today evening. Most of the Gondorian nobility will attend. I will formally introduce you to court, Lothíriel. And again: you will behave accordingly".

 _Formally introduce you to court_. It took a moment for Éomer to register the implication of that statement. In Gondor, to formally introduce a young lady to court, meant to declare her eligibility to marriage. Meant every single noble wishing to elevate his station would stay on her tail. And to _behave accordingly_ , Lothíriel would have to cope with it, to indulge them in dances, romantic strolls in the gardens and Béma knows what else.

Lothíriel's voice sounded rather pleasantly surprised, almost incredulous: "Is that all?".

Éomer looked horrified at her. _Is that all?_ Could there be any worse?

"That is all. But don't play me for a fool. I will keep an eye on you both".

"We won't, Father! Thank you! May I just exchange a word with Éomer, please?".

* * *

Lothíriel dragged Éomer outside of her father's study, well aware that she had to be grateful that he had managed to wait for the door to close behind them before hissing through gritted teeth: " _Is that all_? How can you be so pleased!".

She knew he was angry but really, it could have gone worse. "Éomer, please…".

"So what am I supposed to do for the next month? To wait in a corner, while half of the Gondorian nobility court you? While you enjoy yourself at playing this game?".

"Éomer, listen to me, please!". She knew how all of this must have sounded to his ear, to a Rohirrim's ear: ridiculous. And in a sense, it was. To play the courting game just to test their feelings was indeed unfair and she couldn't say she was happy with it either. But she also understood her father's doubts and really, things could have gone worse. He could have simply said no. Or he could have asked for a longer time to make up his mind.

"It's not like I'm pleased with the situation either!".

"You seemed rather satisfied to me!".

Lothíriel took a deep breath and counted until five. Starting to yell at each other wasn't going to help and she doubted her father would see it as a point to their favour. "Éomer, I know it is not the answer we were hoping for. But we can cope with it: it's just for one month and we are in Gondor. I don't know what you expect from courting here, but it won't be anything more than a few dances and maybe a walk or a ride with whoever it will be, always rigorously chaperoned. We will never be alone and, of course, any physical contact would be deemed extremely inappropriate". She quickly looked around to ensure they were alone in the corridor and then, smiling mischievously, she stood on her toes and cupped his neck: "No evening work in anybody's study, no _fox and geese_ nights, no sneaking in anybody's tent or house, I promise!".

Éomer leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. He was trying hard to keep a straight face but nevertheless a small smile curved his lips: "Never thought I'd say that, but: blessed the Gondorian courting ways!".

"You might change your mind once we are officially betrothed".

"Guess it's the only positive side of not being able to see each other often until the wedding".

It was meant to be a joke but there was bitterness in his voice: "Don't worry, Éomer, we will do it. Plus, it's not like I will be the only one attracting unwanted attentions. As a King, I'm quite sure every eligible woman in all Gondor will be fighting to catch your eye. And I dare say Gondorian ladies can be way more…forward than men".

"Ah, but I have the grumpiness card. Won't take me long to have them on the run".

"Yes, well: try to avoid a diplomatic crisis, ok?".

"I'll try my best".

When they re-entered her father's study, the atmosphere seemed way lighter than just a few minutes earlier. _And now for the tough part._ Éomer quickly nodded, Faramir gave her an encouraging look and came standing by her side.

"There is something else that we wanted to discuss, Father".

Trust her father's ability to smell troubles miles away: he narrowed his eyes and looked suspiciously at the three of them.

"Why do I have a feeling that I won't like it?".

"Because you won't. It's about the attempted murder and Lord Arondir".

Imrahil's eyebrows knitted, as if this all came as a surprise: "Lothíriel, I have already explained you yesterday. Lord Arondir has nothing to do with it. It was a silly idea to start with".

"Yes. Well, maybe before discussing it any further, we could give Éomer a quick update about it?".

"Not that there is much to say. As I have already written in my letters to you, the involvement of Lord Arondir is to be excluded. I have personally looked into the matter and nothing suggests that he could be part of such crazy conspiracy. To be sure, King Elessar has also suggested to keep an eye on his business in Pelargir. Amrothos has followed a few of the ships departing from his docks during the past weeks, but it's nothing more than ordinary trading. They were all transporting various food stocks and headed to some villages around Metrast. So: why are we still discussing this?".

"Because I still believe him involved".

Imrahil rolled his eyes and poured himself some water: "So let me guess: you want to ask me to let you search for clues about one of the most powerful man of all Gondor?".

"Precisely".

"You can't be serious, Lothíriel. I am not going to allow any of this".

Faramir stepped forward and Imrahil gave him another of those _none of your business_ glares. But this time, it didn't stop him: "Imrahil, I think you should listen to your daughter. And before you ask me: no, I have no concrete elements to support her suspicions. However, I was with her the whole time in Pelargir. I was always with her whenever she met Lord Arondir…".

"And?", Imrahil impatiently prompted him.

"And I think her idea is worth to be better considered".

"Has something happened during the negotiations I shall be informed about?".

Imrahil's tone was neutral enough but Lothíriel knew better, just like Faramir: "No, Imrahil. Lothíriel did an admirable job and she never crossed her boundaries. She hasn't said or done anything that your sons, or you for the matter, wouldn't have".

Lothíriel threw her cousin a grateful look. She had never spoken with anybody about it, not even with Éomer. But she couldn't deny that ever since reading Andes' letter, a heavy burden had settled in her: the fear that it might have all been her doing, that she might have been too stubborn and persistent at closing the deal with lord Arondir, that her insistence was to be blamed for everything that had happened. She remembered all too well those days in Pelargir: she had charged ahead against Lord Arondir and the truth was, that not even once had she stopped to think about what the consequences could be.

While there was a part of her which would probably always feel guilty for everything that had happened, Faramir's words comforted her more than she could say.

"So why do you share her suspicions?".

"Hard to say, Imrahil. As I said to Éomer, I rationally think she is wrong. Yet, I feel there is more to this story. When everything happened, I remember thinking Lord Arondir's behaviour and interests were odd. However, as you surely remember, those have been busy months. We were all overwhelmed: the reconstruction, the renegotiation with the Guilds, the patrols on the southern borders. And so, I soon forgot about it. But now, after everything that has happened, I find myself thinking more and more about it. What if Lothíriel is right, what if Lord Arondir's trading business is fishier than we think. Shouldn't we know, at least, what this is all about?".

"Faramir, you are perfectly aware what this is all about. Amrothos tailed those ships".

"Yes, yes, I know. But let's all assume for one moment that it's really him behind the attempt on Lothíriel's life. If nobody has picked up Andes' letter, it means somehow he has been informed that his plan has failed. And even though he might think it highly unlikely, he wouldn't completely discard the idea that he may be suspected. He might be keeping his eyes and his ears wide open. He might have decided to toe the line for a while. Ordinary trading like the one Amrothos has witnessed, might anyway be part of his business. He might have decided to stick to that for a while, until things have calmed down, until we will let our guards down once again. Imrahil, just tell me this: why would a man like him refuse a good deal, like the one Gamling had proposed? Why would he pretend the food stocks to be paid so much more the average market price? Why would he add black horses as part of the payment?".

"Because he knew Rohan could not afford them". King Elessar's words echoed in the room and for a moment, all the eyes rested on him.

"Exactly. He knew Rohan's situation to be dire, he knew it was a matter of survival and he might have been concerned that they would have accepted to pay a higher price. That's why he asked for black horses. _Those_ , he knew Rohan could not afford. I remember discussing it with Éomer when he came to Minas Tirith to bring back Théoden: herds had been decimated and only a few black horses remained in Rohan, way less than what Lord Arondir asked. I honestly did not think about it until we received your letters", Faramir said, turning to face Éomer and her, "but Éomer, do you remember who was sitting around the fire with us that day?".

"There were many people…".

"Lord Arondir".

A heavy silence fell again in the room and Faramir let the news sink before speaking again: "He was sitting on the other side of the fire with some other nobles and while he might have looked engaged in a conversation with one of his vassal, I have no doubt that he was paying more attention than we think to what we were saying. To say I did not always agree with my father is a wide understatement, but I have always thought him right on his opinion about Lord Arondir: a snake. Nothing escapes him, he may lie so still that you barely notice him, but he sees and he hears everything. And at the first chance, he snaps and takes what he wants".

Imrahil stared at his nephew with a deep frown and Lothíriel knew it was the time to press him: "Father, I believe the only reason he refused closing a deal, a good deal, with Gamling, is that his stocks were already sold. And there are only two reasons he would refuse telling it: either it's someone he is not supposed dealing with or, more probably, someone he doesn't want to be associated with. I have, _we_ have, no idea who this could be. All I ask, is to find it out. We can agree how, I do not pretend doing it by myself. But I won't let this go, Father".

Imrahil huffed, but King Elessar seemed to have decided that it was her Father's turn to be cut short: "I agree with your daughter, Imrahil. At the condition that she gives her word to do it in the proper way. Lord Arondir is a powerful man and as much as I agree with the necessity of investigating his interests, I can't afford to openly oppose him. Not without proofs. We shall trade very carefully".

* * *

Éomer leaned against a pillar, sipping his red wine, his eyes fixed on Lothíriel.

She was wearing yet again a new gown, or at least one he had never seen her wearing before. Just like it had happened every day, for the past three weeks. And just like all the other gowns, this too must have been sewed by some of the most skilled hands of the whole Gondor, for even to his inexpert eyes, it looked gorgeous. She looked gorgeous.

Had somebody asked him what colour the gown was, he wouldn't have known what to say. He was sure any women would know it, but all he could say was that it was something in between a dark blue and purple. The front and the sleeves were in a dark grey, a complicated black pattern enriching it, with five strings strategically placed just under her breast, accentuating her figure. Everything was then topped by a sophisticated black necklace adorning her pale neck, matching the complicated braiding of her raven hair.

Excusing herself from the young nobleman she was speaking to, she walked a few steps before yet another nobleman approached her. She laughed at something he said and accepted the goblet of wine he offered her, as they walked through the hall.

In a corner, he spotted Imrahil, engaged in conversation with Elphir and not for the first time, he found himself cursing at his subtlety.

Just like Lothíriel had told him, things had gone relatively smooth. Yes, she had had to allow dances to what it felt like half of Gondor's young bachelors. On a few of occasions, she had to indulge them on rides around Minas Tirith, to which she would punctually show up wearing her Rohirric riding skirt, atop Sparkler. For a few of the suitors, that had been scandalous enough to retire from the competition. But most of the others, while surely shocked, hadn't given up.

He couldn't say he was happy about the whole thing, but Lothíriel had been right. Gondorian courting was so ridiculously lame that there was nothing to be concerned of, especially when it came to somebody like Lothíriel, whose personality was the exact opposite.

Talking about unwanted attentions, he had had the worse. Yes, he had played the _grumpiness card_ , which came easy enough. But while he was, surely, _grumpy_ , he was also quite an impatient man. And it had taken all his self-control to keep himself from losing his temper when faced with the brazen ways of Gondorian ladies. Lothíriel had warned him but really, some of them knew no shame. Nor their fathers, to be honest.

Even so, that wasn't what was troubling him. The courting thing was tedious, but just like Lothíriel had said: they coped with it. Quite well, actually. And he had a feeling that at the first chance of being alone together, they would laugh a lot about it.

What troubled him, was everything else.

Lothíriel had gotten used so quickly and so smoothly to the Rohirric ways, that it had been easy to forget that she was a Gondorian Princess. That she had lived a golden life. Now, looking at her, he found it hard to reconcile the image of that beautiful young woman, clad in a gown worth Béma knows how much, the umpteenth of a long series, entertaining nobles and attending a different ball every evening, with the Lothíriel him and the rest of Meduseld had gotten used to.

The one who would eat breakfast sitting on the steps in front of the Golden Hall, so that she could enjoy the view. The one who would dance with his raiders, torturing their feet and laughing about her clumsiness. The one who would play _fox and geese_ at night, in her room, with the housekeeper and one of his men. The one who would hang around with servants. And even more than that: the one who would tirelessly work, dawn to dust, attend meetings, read records, organise correspondence. The one who would retire to her small room late at night, exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open.

The one who had seemed to be happy with less luxuries and more worries.

Imrahil had told him: _Lothíriel was born and raised in Dol Amroth and we both know that life in Rohan is different._ And he now suspected that the month's waiting time wasn't really to test the authenticity of their feelings. It was to test whether she thought them worth enough to give up on the privileged life she could have, were she to marry in Gondor. It was to test whether he thought them worth enough, to strip her of that chance.

And while he was sure that Lothíriel would laugh and find it ridiculous, would tell him that none of it mattered, _he_ couldn't tell the same.

He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure whether it was fair of him to drag her to a distant land, to have her leave her homeland, her family, everything she was used to.

For him.

Over the past three weeks, the thought of Aefre and everything that had passed between them, the memory of the day he had shovelled her out of his study, of the nights he had used her for his own pleasure, not caring one bit about her own, not caring of ever answering any of her questions, had been tormenting him. At day. And at night.

He loved Lothíriel. He loved her like he knew he would never love any other woman.

But was he worth of her?

The honourable part of him probably was. But what of his other part? As much as he would have liked to think that it faded away under her soothing touch and presence, he knew it wasn't. It was part of him, it would always be there. What if in a few years, faced with yet another struggle, another war, another enemy, it would surface again? Would she be able to cope with it again? Would she want to? Would they manage to get through it?

Most of all: what if he would start treating her the same way he had treated Aefre?

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, Éomer".

Good thing he wasn't drinking, because he was sure he would have chocked on his wine at realising that suddenly Imrahil was by his side.

He cleared his voice, his eyes still lingering on Lothíriel, who was now dancing with the same nobleman he saw her speaking to earlier: "I was just lost in my thoughts. If you will excuse me…".

"Having second thoughts?".

He could have tried denying it and escaping but by now he knew it all too well: with the Prince of Dol Amroth it was not only impossible, it was useless.

"I love her, Imrahil. I will never have second thoughts on that".

"But?".

Of course he would know that there was a _but_. Éomer looked around, feeling at unease at discussing such things in a hall crowded with prying eyes and ears. Imrahil seemed to read his mind: "The air is quite stiff in here. How about taking some fresh air, Éomer?".

"Gladly".

As they reached the balcony, he silently followed Imrahil down the stairs and through the gardens. There were more than a few couples taking advantage of the semi-darkness for a romantic stroll and they all seemed to disperse as soon as they spotted the Prince of Dol Amroth and the King of Rohan heading their way. As they reached the far side of the garden, Éomer realized they were completely alone: around them, a well cared grass, flowerbeds and a lonely willow tree. The closest hedges were far enough to ensure them privacy and he wondered whether to be relieved or rather worried.

"But?", Imrahil repeated.

"But I fear whether I am worth your daughter". There, he had said it.

"And why is that, Éomer?".

"She would be the one leaving her home, her family, everything she has always known. And she would do it for me. She would give up on her life in Gondor, for a much harder one in Rohan. As Queen, she would hardly have a moment of respite, she would be asked to rule in my absence and needless to say, she wouldn't be able to surround herself with all the comforts she has here". He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the city below them: "I am not sure that, as a man, I am worth it".

The muffled melody of the tune being played in the hall reached them, the laughter of a woman in the garden, the rustle of some lizard luring in the bushes: he wasn't even sure why he had told such things to Imrahil. Why, he must be completely mad.

"As a father, I must say I share your doubts", Éomer's heart skipped a beat as he heard the Prince's words and he swallowed nervously, "but then, as a father, I doubt any man would ever be worth of my daughter. Had King Elessar asked for Lothíriel's hand, I would have found a pack of flaws in him as well".

Éomer's head snapped towards the Prince: was he trying to lift the atmosphere? After all he had just told?

"You have always had high standards for yourself, Éomer. Too high. You know: there are some worthy men among Lothíriel's suitors. Good men. Yet: I doubt any of them would ever fall prey of such doubts".

"Imrahil I am not sure…".

"Go to her, Éomer. Speak to her. Clear your doubts. And if after that you both are still willing to marry each other, then I will give you my consent".

And with that, he turned and walked back the direction they had come from. Éomer stared at his back, mouth gaping.

What had just happened?

* * *

Lothíriel spotted her father coming back to the hall. Alone.

Quickly excusing herself, she briskly walked towards him, hoping she would be granted a moment of peace by her suitors.

"Father".

"Daughter".

"I…I saw you walking out with Éomer. Is everything alright?".

Éomer's time in Minas Tirith was almost at its end and so was the month's waiting time that her father had imposed on them. She was expecting from one day to the other to be summoned in his study and if he had told something to Éomer, she was eager to know it.

"He is at the far end of the garden, at the willow tree. You should go to him".

Lothíriel studied her father's expression, searching for clues. But he didn't give any and she wasn't willing to ask any further. Ever since entering Minas Tirith, she hadn't had a single chance to spend a moment alone with Éomer, and she wasn't to pass on this one. Whichever her father's reasons.

She crossed the garden in quick steps and immediately spotted him, leaning against the windowsill. The temperature was milder and a crescent moon shone on them, but otherwise if felt like that night in Aldburg, when she had reached him on the balcony to sooth his melancholic mood. She wasn't sure whether he was again feeling so, but something was clearly amiss.

"Éomer?", she called him in a whisper. "Father told me to come. Is…has he told you anything?".

Éomer straightened but unlike that night in Aldburg, he did not pull her in his embrace. Instead, he turned to her, his hands held firmly behind his back, and there was such a sadness in his eyes that Lothíriel held her breath for a moment: "He said no, hasn't he? How could he! How can he not understand that…".

"He hasn't said no, Lothíriel".

She swallowed her words and stared at him: "He hasn't?".

"No. He said that _if_ we are still willing to get married, he will give us his consent".

"If?".

Éomer turned again towards the balcony, silent and still. She felt as if somebody had just punched her and she stepped towards him, grabbed one of his arm and tried to force him to look at her: "If?".

But instead, he evaded her touch and put some further distance between them, walking towards the tree: "Maybe he was right. This was all too rushed. Maybe it really isn't a good idea, for you to leave Gondor and come to Rohan".

Lothíriel stared at his back, words failing her. All this time, her love for Éomer and his love for her had been her only certainty. For that she had withstood suitor after suitor, not missing one occasion to show her father that no matter what game he was forcing on them, they would have won. They would have come through. And now…

For a moment, she thought about running back to the hall, to her father's house, to her room. Her hands were clenched in fists so tight that they were shaking and she tried to appeal to her last shred of sanity.

"Why?".

"Lothíriel…".

"Be a man and look at me when you tell me!", she yelled at him.

Éomer slowly turned. She thought he would have been angry, but he wasn't. He looked haunted, defeated. He looked like the Éomer she had seen so many times during her first weeks in Rohan: she had seen him on her first evening in Edoras, when he had spent the whole time staring into his mug. She had seen him at the Hornburg, when she had faced him with the reality of his role. She had seen him in his study, after the orcs' hunt. But after that night, she had never seen him again. There might have been ups and downs, but he had never been so again. Until now.

"You shouldn't marry me, Lothíriel. You would be better off marrying one of your suitors, staying in Gondor, close to your family, to everything you know, with a man who won't let you down".

Before she knew, she had done it. Éomer's face barely moved but he looked shocked at her hand, still hanging mid-air.

"Quit circling around it and tell me what is that you are scared about, or I swear that not even your whole Guard will save you from me!". Probably anybody else in her stead would have been quite scared by the murderous look Éomer was giving her. But she knew him, and she refused to be intimidated.

He spat the words through gritted teeth: "You are too young to…".

"I said quit circling! Just tell it!".

"I am not worth you, Lothíriel".

It was her turn to be shocked and she looked at him up and down: "Valar, where is this coming from? Why would you even say so!".

"You know me, Lothíriel. There is more to me than the honourable man you fell in love with. What if I end up being _that man_ again, the one who messed up with Aefre, who mistreated his whole household…you deserve better, Lothíriel. I know you might think it irrelevant, you might think it belongs to the past…".

"Irrelevant? You think I have ever thought it irrelevant?! Valar's sake, it has been on my mind for weeks, after you told me the whole story about you and Aefre! Is what Wídfara confronted me about on the way to Minas Tirith: he asked me why would I marry you, knowing the way you have treated his sister!".

"Yes, why would you?".

"I know you, Éomer. What you did was dishonourable and as I told Wídfara, had I been in Aefre's place, my brothers would have already killed you a dozen times by now. Do not think that I'm too young to understand what you did, for I'm not. I know you are scared of it: being that person again, only that then it will be me facing it, not Aefre. You think I haven't considered it? You think I haven't considered the possibility that there will be again times when you will struggle, we will struggle? That it will be _me_ at the receiving end of your anger, your frustration?".

"I'd rather hang myself before treating you like I treated Aefre, Lothíriel. This is why I can't…".

"This is why you won't, Éomer. There will be times when we will have to work hard to make it work, when we will yell at each other, when you will bother me, and those unlucky enough to live in Meduseld, with your terrible temper". She stood on her toes and cupped his face, her hands trembling: "I have always known it, Éomer. That what I was signing for, wasn't something that would have always been easy. I hope you know it as well, for I am not flawless either and I am rather sure that there will be days when I will unnerve you beyond limits!". She tried to smile but felt quite sure she failed in her attempt: "I know all of it, Éomer. Above everything, I know you, I know who you are. I know how heavy it has been for you to live with the way you have behaved. And you know why it has been so? Because you are a good man, Éomer. You are an honourable, brave man. I love you, Éomer, just like I told my father: virtues and flaws included".

Éomer's hand cupped her cheek, his eyes boring into her: "How can you trust me so?".

"How can you trust I am not a petty Gondorian princess? One who would jump at any opportunity to parade her skills, one who would not stop to think it twice before using her father's injured knights as a pretence to extort information?".

"Because I know who you are".

This time, she managed a small smile: "Good. Now: are you going to kiss me?".

"I am rather sure that your shouting has attracted some attention from the people in the garden. I believe we have a bunch of spectators behind that hedge".

"We have already given them the gossip of their life. A Princess slapping a King in the gardens and yelling at him. I doubt a kiss would make it worse. Besides, whenever have you cared for such things?".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** I wasn't sure whether to split this chapter into two, but in the end I decided to keep it as it is. In more than one occasion, in the previous chapters, I have tried to left intended that both Éomer and Lothíriel had been thinking about Éomer's "dark moments". So I figured that before proceeding any further, there were things they needed to clarify between them. And for the way I have been portraying this Éomer, I thought it likely that sooner or later, he would have had doubts about marrying Lothíriel. Hopefully things are settled now!

Éomer is now about to leave Minas Tirith and Lothíriel to start investigating Lord Arondir, so next chapters will see progresses into that direction!

Having said that, I'd like to give you a massive _thank you_ for all the reviews that I've received for the last chapter. It worked marvels at washing away any demotivation coming from the lack of feedback over the past weeks! I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well as the next ones, and of course I hope you will sometimes find the time to let me know! You really made my day with those reviews!

 _NanamiYatsumaki_ : thanks! Glad you like it and I hope this chapter lived up to expectations!

 _Guest_ : here's a new chapter. Next one will move things quite forward I'd say!

 _peachpaige_ : thank you so much for your support! :) They definitely have both an emotional and a physical spark. Having said that, they will soon be separated for a long time, since Éomer will be riding back to Edoras. Next chapter will tell you where we are headed! ;)

 _D_ : hoped so! Thank you and hope you enjoyed this update!

 _Nymphae_ : I have been myself a fanfic reader for a long time and rarely left a review. So: I see your point! :) I really just started to understand how important reviews are when I started writing! I think I wanted to show that besides everything, Lothíriel is well aware of the situation and her feelings for Éomer are there even though she knows he did wrong. And in this chapter they finally confronted each other about it. Hope you like it!

 _Solar1_ : my update makes your day, your review makes mine. A fair exchange! :) Won't update every Monday anymore, but I hope you will still enjoy the story!

 _Guest_ : thank you!

 _Guest_ : glad you like the writing, definitely the most challenging part for me since English is not my mother tongue!

 _Guest_ : who knows where this story will carry us! ;) Thank you!


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 _18_ _th_ _June 3020, Near Harad_

"Is that what my sister calls _grumpy King_?".

He tried to give Erchirion his worse glare but doubted the results. It was simply too scorching hot and dry.

The land cracked under their booted feet, under the hoofs of their horses. With the exception of a few bushes, it had been days since he had last seen the green of a plant, never mind grass. Sand and dust had quickly become their second clothing, a layer as impalpable as annoying, covering and rubbing their skin, crunching under their teeth, making the colour of every last piece of garment fading away.

How could people live there, went far beyond his comprehension.

Searching inside his saddlebag, he took out a small jar and very carefully opened the lid.

 _So that you don't roast your face_. Those had been Lothíriel's exact words on the bright morning he had left Minas Tirith, not four weeks earlier. He must have looked quite sceptical, for she had given him a pointed look and, shaking her head, she had simply added that once back, he would have thanked her for her thoughtfulness.

And Bema if she was right. Yes, he had spent most of his life outdoor, patrolling and riding in any weather, may it be a freezing windy morning or a hot summer afternoon. But nothing could have ever prepared him to _that_. It felt as if the sun above them, was not the same sun shining over Edoras and Minas Tirith.

No matter how warm Rohan could be in summer, wind would often offer some relief. The grass would still feel cool under your feet. But _there_ , there was no such thing.

Everything was extreme. One day the air was so still that he would have payed everything to have a gust of wind bringing them some relief. The next they would find themselves in the middle of a sand storm. The days were hot. The nights were cold. From midday on the sand would become so hot that it was almost impossible to touch. The air was so dry that despite the heat, he would rarely sweat. His throat felt dry, his eyes felt dry.

During their first encounter with a sand storm, the young stallion of one of the Gondorians had panicked and managed to run away. The following day they had unsuccessfully looked for him. When, a week later, they had found his carcass, he could not have believed his eyes. Dried of all its fluids, seven days had been more than enough to turn the body of a once young and lively horse into a shrivelled mummy.

And now, four weeks into their supposedly quick southern campaign, they weren't even sure _when_ they would be able to ride back North.

After the end of the war, Aragorn had worked tirelessly to ensure peace on Gondor's borders. In most of the cases he had been successful. The Haradim, however, had proved elusive. One day they would seem to be willing to sign a peace treaty, the next they would retreat to their old-rooted despise towards Gondor. The war had left them crippled, their armies almost completely destroyed, their resources extinguished. And yet they had seemed to be taking time.

Aragorn had discreetly dispatched a few of his best rangers south and the moment they had ridden back, bringing news of weird movements, of armies being rebuilt, it had been clear that they needed to intervene before it was too late. Before the Haradim would have been able to replenish their strengths, however they were managing to do it. Strike first and quick in order to avoid another lengthy war. One they could not afford.

But if they had expected the Haradim to meet them shortly after having entered their territories, they had been sorely mistaken. Once again, their enemy was elusive. There had been a few skirmishes but the main army, the one Aragorn's rangers had spotted, had yet to confront them. And what was supposed to be a short campaign, was slowly turning into something completely else, something for which they were not prepared nor equipped. It was a growing concern among the ranks and the umpteenth thought to keep him awake at night. That, and the fact that he was neglecting Rohan's reconstruction, that he had yet again taken away the men from their homes, from their families.

He applied the unguent on his face, paying great attention not to forget any single inch of it.

 _So that you don't roast your face_. It still brought a smile on his face and out of the corner of his eye, he caught Erchirion giving him a sarcastic look and he knew he was in for some merciless teasing.

He missed her. Of course, he missed her.

But not like he had thought, feared. He missed her simple presence by his side, her wit, her touch. But he had been surprised at realizing how much of her stayed with him even if they were apart. After that evening in minas Tirith, the one that according to Amrothos had _provided_ _gossip for an entire Age_ , he had come to term with his doubts and fears. He still considered himself the luckiest man in all Arda for having her by his side, but on one thing she was right. Over the past winter, they had changed. They had grown, together. And there was no way back, now. Only forward. Together.

"What do you want, Erchirion?".

"When and if you are done creaming your delicate face, Aragorn would like to speak to you".

Ignoring his comment, he stood up and slowly moved towards Aragorn's tent.

The inside was dark and offered a blessed relief from the sun. His eyes took a moment to adjust and when they finally did, he spotted Aragorn leaning over a table, looking at a map. He joined him by his side and gladly accepted the water he offered him.

It was a map of Umbar and its surroundings, not exactly the area they were in.

"Erchirion said you wished to speak to me".

"I did, my friend. I've come up with a plan and I'd like to discuss it with you".

Éomer's eyes roamed the inside of the tent. As Aragorn's chief commander, Imrahil should have been there if they were to discuss war's plans.

"Yes, Imrahil should be here. However, he is in the camp as we speak, to keep the pretence that we are not speaking. Not about our next move, at least".

Éomer's eyebrows shot upwards but before he could speak, Aragorn laid a second map on the table and placed a number of pins on it, one for each of the skirmishes they had gotten involved in so far. Nothing new, they had already done so countless times, trying to make sense of their enemy's movements. And so far, all they could discern from it, was that the Haradim were clearly trying to drag them away from the Harad Road and deeper into the desert. They had probably guessed that their armies were not prepared for a lengthy stay in the desert and as far as a plan goes, theirs was working perfectly. One month into their campaign and even if they had never explicitly spoken about it, they all knew retreat to be a very likely outcome for them.

"We have been assuming so far that the Haradim's intent was to lead us to where we would have no alternative but riding back North without having met them on the battleground. I'm not saying we were wrong, just that maybe their main purpose was not really leading us _to_ some place, rather…".

"Leading us away _from_ some place", he finished the sentence for him.

"Exactly".

Not that it was something they had never considered before. Pulling them away from their not yet completely recovered army made completely sense.

The problem was that besides the scattered reports from Aragorn's rangers, they had no idea where their hideout might have been. The obvious answer would have been Umbar, but they knew it was not the case. And without any better guess or hint, they had been left wandering almost aimlessly in that cursed desert.

Aragorn aligned the two maps, the one showing the location of the recent events and the one detailing the area surrounding Umbar.

"Every attack came right after we had started moving either South or West, which sooner or later would have brought us back to…".

"The Harad Road. Are you reconsidering Umbar?".

"No, no. Over the past months Amrothos and Erchirion have sailed twice South. They would have spotted something".

Éomer's eyes returned to the maps and, like the first time, the large void areas caught his eyes. Besides the Harad Road and the rivers, the inner part of the land seemed completely uninhabited. He knew it was not the case, that nomad tribes would often move across the ever-changing landscape of sand dunes and hot stones. But the almost complete lack of villages was still staggering.

"Here". Aragorn's finger pointed to a double bend of the Umbar's river, not too distant from Umbar itself. "Something is missing here", he explained.

"A settlement?".

"Not exactly. A ruined fortress. Herumor ordered its construction towards the end of the Second Age. It has been abandoned for many centuries and the only time I visited it, many years ago, it was only serving as a temporary shelter for the Haradim moving to and from Umbar. Gondorian's maps rarely show it".

Éomer sighed and rubbed his eyes, wishing he had never received such news: _a fortress_. Ruined, sure. But still a fortress. "We are not prepared for a siege, Aragorn".

"No, we are not. But if I'm right and that is indeed the Haradim's hideout, then trust me that they are not prepared for a siege either".

It was a risky plan. Even moving at the quickest possible pace, the fortress was a four days' ride from their actual position. If they were wrong, they would end up even further from the borders, they would be vulnerable, and they would have achieved nothing. If they were right, there was still a siege awaiting for them.

On the other hand, right now the only alternative was to admit defeat, ride straight back to Minas Tirith and prepare for worse to come.

"Why was the fortress abandoned? It seems strategically placed, sure they could have found a use for it".

"That's exactly why it was built there. Food supplies could be easily traded via river from Umbar, the river itself provides water, and nomads tribes and merchants would find a market to trade their goods without having to reach the coast. All of this would have proved to be true, if only they had built the fortress a few miles up or down the river. But not _there_ ".

"And why would that be?".

"See this double bend of the river? It is forced by the presence of some steep hills. The width of the riverbed is considerably reduced, which makes the whole surrounding area prone to floods during the summer months, when rains in the east are more abundant. In order to ensure that the fortress would not be submerged, it has been built relatively up the hill. We know the level of the river to be relatively low this summer, which means that even now the fortress would rely on people to carry water supplies up the hill. Even if they have managed to rebuild the original channelling system to bring up the water, were we to lay siege to the fortress…".

"We could easily cut their water supplies".

Éomer held Aragorn's eyes and for some long moments, silence ruled the tent.

A four days ride in the desert. If they were lucky, an enemy barricaded behind the walls of an old fortress. A wait of several days at least, until the lack of water would force the Haradim to finally face them up. A battle. And then a lengthy ride back through the desert.

The choice was clear to him: "We need to ensure that we will be as unexpected as we can be".

Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder: "That is of paramount importance. No matter how good our scouters are, I'm quite sure the Haradim are managing to keep an eye on the movements of our camp. This is why Imrahil is not here".

"I can give the order to ride tomorrow at first light. My men will be ready within an hour".

* * *

"Elphir, you can either go on looking at me like I am a barely tolerable nuisance, or you can accept that father, not to mention King Elessar, have approved all of this and charged you to support me however needed".

Crossing belligerently her arms and raising her chin, Lothíriel lifted an eyebrow and waited for her brother's capitulation. But instead, he nodded towards Amrothos: "He has already sailed twice in order to check on your insane suspicions towards Lord Arondir. I don't see how sailing a third time will make any difference. Don't you agree?".

 _Looking for support in Amrothos? Oh Elphir, you fool!_

Amrothos waved one hand in the air and gave him one of those notoriously charming smiles: "Ah, you know me brother, any excuse is good for me to go sailing. Patrolling, chasing nobles…what difference does it make?".

Lothíriel bit on her lip, trying to keep a straight face, while Elphir did nothing to hide his rolling eyes: "Just explain how do you pretend the outcome to be different this time".

 _Pretend_ was a rather big word for it. _Hope_ seemed to fit much better. _Last hope_ , really.

Ever since the joined armies of Gondor and Rohan had ridden away, a month earlier, she had been trying everything to collect evidence of Lord Arondir's involvement in the attempt on her life. And she had always miserably failed.

Until she had decided to take a step back, tried to understand why all previous attempts had failed, especially her father's ones. And that was when something had come to her mind: what if Lord Arondir was not simply acting cool while waiting for things to calm down. What if, somehow, he knew exactly of her father's plans and had deployed some ships in order to keep the pretence of a _normal business_ activity?

Faramir had been quite sceptical at her idea, for only a few people had been informed of their plans at the time. All people that could be trusted.

But a ship doesn't sail on its own. A ship needs sailors. And it didn't take to be a wizard to know that, if her father would decide to see through someone's business at sea, either Erchirion or Amrothos would be tasked with the job. An informer in the crew was all that it was needed, in order to know at least one day in advance when and if they would sail.

And so, she had come up with her plan.

Amrothos hadn't liked her insinuations that an informer might be sitting among his crew, but had somehow seen the reasoning behind and accepted her plan quite swiftly. Same could not be told of Elphir. Of course.

"Do you really believe that he refused selling his entire stock to Rohan because he preferred trading dozens of small shipments with each and every small village along the coast instead? At a time when he did not own the docks yet, to boot? Come, Elphir, you have to agree that it doesn't make much sense. Look: I'm not necessarily interested in following his ships. I just need him to think that we are".

"A bait?". Elphir still looked dubious, but maybe she had managed to pick his interest.

"Yes. If everything goes like it did the previous times, they will deliver their cargo and get back to Pelargir. Amrothos will consider himself satisfied with what he has seen, and he will sail back as well".

"You are not interested in following ships, you are interested in tackling the supplies". He made a half-turn towards the window and looked pensively outside.

"Yes. I cannot guarantee that it will work. Who knows, maybe his act goes as far as really selling the goods in Belfalas. But considering how desperate Lord Arondir had looked back then, I hope that's not the case. And if I'm right, the supplies will not stay in any Belfalas' village".

Elphir sighed deeply: "I tend to forget how resourceful you can be, sister. It's little wonder you made it this far. Very well…what do you need from me?".

As surprised as she was, she had no time to bask in her brother's acknowledgment: "I need men. Trusted men. And I need you to help me organizing this…mission?".

Elphir nodded and, moving towards one of the shelfs, picked up a map.

"We don't know where exactly will his ship be docking. However, given his precedents, I think we can safely restrict possibilities to a few villages. I will dispatch a man to each of those villages…".

"Just one? Wouldn't it be better to send a few more?".

Elphir shook his head: "No. For two reasons: first, you want to keep this as confidential as it can be. The more people we involve, the harder to keep the secret. I'm not implying my men would betray my trust, but the more men I dispatch, the more likely are people to notice it anyway. Second, if all you want is to keep an eye on the supplies and see whether they are re-shipped somewhere else, then a man is more than enough for the job. With the roads being much safer, there are a number of travellers always on the move. A single man can easily go unnoticed. A group of men, not quite so".

"You are right, Elphir. I hadn't thought about it".

Straightening up, Elphir crossed his arm and looked at her with a half-grin: "Hear, hear. Our little sister admitting spontaneously and openly that she was wrong and I was right. Father was not joking, you _do_ have changed over last winter!".

On the other side of the table, Amrothos nodded approvingly: "We shall ask Éomer how did he succeed in taming her so when we so miserably failed over the past twenty years. That would be a useful lesson to be learned, even if a bit too late unfortunately".

Lothíriel felt her cheeks in flame: " _Tame_!? Amrothos! How dare you…".

"Right, right. Let's say you tamed each other. I mean, really Lothíriel: slapping him in full view of half of the Gondorian nobility. How did you manage to reach up to his cheek, by the way?".

Lothíriel huffed and for a moment, she truly considered the idea of proving her brother that she wasn't _that_ short. Instead, she forced herself to count until ten. Turning back towards Elphir, she tried to get the discussion back on track: "So: one man per village. What else?".

"Amrothos".

"I thought I was supposed to sail back to Pelargir right after their docking in Belfalas".

"Officially, yes".

Amrothos narrowed his eyes: "And _unofficially_?".

"Well, _if_ Lothíriel is right, the supplies will soon be moved. We need to know where to. If they are to be moved via land, we will already have men in place for the job. In the chance that they will be yet again travelling via sea and sail North, I will have a ship ready here in Dol Amroth to take care of it. If, instead, they sail South…".

"What if I do really have an informant among my crew? Keeping them ready to sail again will be seen as suspicious".

Lothíriel followed the exchange, her eyes shifting from one brother to the other, almost holding her breath as the plan she had come up to was slowly taking a defined shape.

"When you sail back towards Pelargir, don't dock. Fill up the hold, explain that it is because you need to be prepared to sail South if word from father comes. Be sure that you have enough for a lengthy stay and this way, we don't need to concern ourselves with the possibility of an informant. If there is one, he won't be able to warn anybody of our true intentions".

Lothíriel looked at her eldest brother.

Over the past years, together with Amrothos and Erchirion, they had mocked him so often about how serious and boring he had become, wondering what had been on his mind when he had decided to marry Gilraen. Only now it struck her how unfair they had all been, how unfair _she_ had been.

Being raised as the next Prince of Dol Amroth, had always put much pressure on him. The pressure her younger brothers could be relieved of, the pressure she had never felt because she was a woman. As if that wasn't enough, being raised in dark times, with war looming over them and that ever presence feeling of uncertainty, the weight of his responsibilities must have been a heavy burden for him.

Right then, it appeared so clear to her where young carefree Elphir had gone. And she could not stop herself from crossing the room and lock her arms around his chest. She didn't even know when was the last time she had hugged him, but it felt good, just like in her childhood memories of those countless times he had cheered her up after something had upset her.

Elphir's arms gently locked around her shoulders and she felt him chuckling: "Now, what did I do to earn a hug from my little sister?".

There were so many things she would have liked to tell him. But that wasn't the moment, nor she even knew where to start from. She took a step back and rested her hands on his arms: "That sounds like a good plan, Elphir. Thank you for helping me. I…I know that with father and King Elessar away you need every last man. I appreciate that you are making them available for me".

He grinned at her and mocked a shocked expression: "I thought I had been _charged to support you_! Are you telling me that I had a choice?!".

She grinned back at him and shook her head: "Absolutely not! But you are doing more than just passively _supporting_ me. And for that I'm glad, brother. Dol Amroth will always be in good hands with you".

"As will Rohan with such capable Queen".

It took them most of the afternoon to finalise their plan and ensure they weren't overlooking any important detail. When Lothíriel finally left her father's study, the sun was already setting over the sea, painting the sky in a flaming red. She stopped by a window and, half-sitting on the windowsill, she enjoyed the view.

How she will miss it. For all the beautiful things Rohan had to offer, nothing could ever match Dol Amroth's sunsets.

Ever since coming back to Dol Amroth, two weeks earlier, she had rarely had a moment of peace. Half of her mind was constantly fixed on Lord Arondir, mulling over her next move, trying to find a way to expose him. The other half, was kept busy by the wedding's planning. Even though she had never been the type of girl who spends her days daydreaming about it, she had soon discovered that she cared about it now. A lot. She cared about the arrangements, the guests, the dress, the date. During the sailing from Pelargir, she had shared a cabin with Holdwyn. More than once she had awoken her in the middle of the night after suddenly realizing that there was yet another small detail she had forgotten about. Her friend had not been amused, to say the least.

It was a delicate balance of emotions, for excitement for her new life with Éomer was often counter balanced by a deep nostalgia. She hadn't expected it, for she had never been one for brooding. However, every now and then, she would find herself focusing on some small detail of her childhood home, old memories rushing through her, a lump forming in her throat.

Gone was the carefree Princess of those years. The role of Queen, with all that it implied, just behind the corner.

It was true that over the past years she had done a lot for Dol Amroth. But it was also true that, if at any time she would have decided to take a break from her duties, she could have easily done it. From now on, there would never be such thing. People would look up at her, the same way they looked up at her father, at Elphir, at Éomer.

For years, her only concern had been to surpass people's expectations. From now on, the challenge would be to keep up with them.

She sighed deeply and followed with her eyes the flight of a seagull towards the sea.

"A view able to make me forget about how sick getting here has made me feel".

Holdwyn mirrored her position and sat on the other side of the windowsill. The girl truly was a treasure and Lothíriel couldn't be happier about her decision of staying with her in Gondor until the wedding.

"How did it go?".

"Good. Elphir came up with a good plan and Amrothos will sail tomorrow back to Pelargir. Now we can only wait and hope it will work".

"Don't worry, Lothíriel. One way or the other, you will do it. You are far too stubborn to fail".

She laughed softly: "I have been in Rohan long enough to take it as a compliment!".

"That's what it was meant to be!".

They sat there for a while, enjoying the view in a pleasant silence, until the sun had dived behind the horizon and light started to fade away. "Are you ok, Lothíriel?".

"Yes, Holdwyn. Just being a bit silly".

"Having second thoughts?".

"No, of course not. It's just…I guess I took Dol Amroth for granted for my whole life. And now that I know I'll be leaving for good is…".

"Sad?".

"Yes. Sad".

"You miss him".

Valar if she did. She had been missing him for months, she had been missing him ever since their arrival in Minas Tirith. During their stay in the White City, her father had barely allowed them to see each other at all. She had found herself struggling to keep at bay one suitor after the other and even though she had to admit that she had had fun at times, it had also been exhausting.

She hadn't realized how tough it had been for Éomer as well, until the evening her father had finally approved their wedding.

She should have expected it. It was so much Éomer's like to do so. To concern himself with her well-being before anything else, even before his love and his happiness. And yes, she might have slapped him, but Valar if he hadn't made her love him even more.

She knew their life was not going to be always easy. Because of their roles. But also, because a man like Éomer, would never be an easy man to live with. Not that she was perfect either, of course. But that intensity, that deepness that she had always felt to be surrounding his person, could be either a bless or a curse. And she was quite sure that even though they would be happy together, there would still be times when their discussions would have half of Meduseld running for cover.

Yet, she had never had doubts about him. Not once.

He was the one she wanted to run to after a tough day. The one who could wipe away all her worries with a simple caress. How could she not miss him? How could she not be counting down the days until their wedding? How could she not hope in a letter from him every time a courier entered the city?

So far, he had only-managed to write her once. She knew the campaign was not going as they had hoped and she knew he was fretting over the fact that he was neglecting Rohan's reconstruction. She was keeping a regular correspondence with many of her friends in Rohan and she hoped that the fact that she had managed to make part of her dowry available before the wedding, had given him some comfort.

Lothíriel threw a last glance towards the horizon, trying to memorize everything. The sound of the waves breaking against the cliffs, the smell of salt, the evening breeze on her skin.

They only had to hold on until next spring. Then they would be finally together and whatever hardship they might be faced with, they would endure it. Together.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** I'm so sorry it took me that long to post this chapter! The first months at my new job have been quite intense and it has taken be a while to get used to the long commuting. If that wasn't enough, I lost the chapter when I had already written more than half of it and had to re-start from scratches, which is always a struggle for me. On the top of that, I had an idea for another story which I really needed to roughly write down before it escaped me! :)

On the bright side, now things look much better and I'm managing to write a bit everyday on the train. I can't promise that I will update as often as I used to, but I think twice a month should be feasible.

As for the chapter itself, I hope you have enjoyed it even though our favourite couple is momentarily separated!

 _AmandaBaker852:_ the investigation is unfolding! ;)

 _Firelight:_ thanks for your feedback. Maybe I should have written something from Imrahil POV. To my mind, she is his only daughter, she is just back after months spent away, after an attempt on her life, everything is suddenly happening very fast. Politically speaking you are right, but I think it's fairly realistic that here Imrahil father is winning over Imrahil the Prince. Hence his reluctance!

 _coecoe11:_ thank you, I'm glad you are liking it so far! Knowing there are readers enjoying it, it's always a boost to my motivation!


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

 _Dol Amroth, 10_ _th_ _July 3020_

A colourful variety of people crowded the streets of the harbour. As usual on a market day, every corner, every street, was packed with kiosks and stands. The loud voices of the merchants filled the air, growing even louder as they recognised the Prince's daughter walking by.

Holding firmly Holdwyn's arm under her own, she pressed forward: "We are almost there!".

Holdwyn laughed, looking around her with excited curiosity, the same she had probably shown during her first visit to the Riddermarket. Behind her, Walda looked far less amused, his eyes shifting nervously from Holdwyn to herself, and to the crowd around them.

Having being charged by Éomer with her safety, he would have most probably liked to keep her locked in a room.

Following her eyes, Holdwyn turned back towards Walda and released the laughter she had been trying hard to contain: "Walda, come! You look like a man in front of the executioner. Why don't you just relax and enjoy it!".

For a moment, she thought he would have exploded. Him, or at least the vein on his forehead: "You think it funny?".

"Hush, there are more than enough guards around us! Why, I can barely see past them and towards the stands!".

Walda rolled his eyes: "Just how far is this place?".

For the sake of the poor man, she tried to calm him down: "Right behind that corner, Walda. Be at ease, afterwards we can go straight back to the Palace and I promise that we will be behind its tick walls at least until tomorrow!".

"Until tomorrow? Can we not make it until next spring?".

Ignoring his comment, she pulled forward, keeping herself always just a half step behind the guards opening the road at the front of the group. As they turned around the corner, one of her father's men entered the small shop on their right. He came back a few seconds later, nodding satisfied: "Looks like we had a good timing, Princess Lothíriel. The shop is empty".

"Marvellous!". Pulling Holdwyn behind her, she stepped in without further hesitation.

With so many changes going on everywhere, it was good to find a place which seemed to stoically resist the passing of time. It was like stepping in an old memory and being reassured by its familiar smell.

"Master Argeleb, good morning!".

"Princess Lothíriel! Oh my, how long has it been?".

Argeleb walked towards her: his steps weren't as quick as they used to and his wrinkles were deeper than she remembered. But the smile in his eyes was always the same and she gladly returned his embrace.

"Holdwyn, this is master Argeleb. He is the best goldsmith of all Dol Amroth and definitely the favourite of my mother. In fact, his wife and my mother were good friends and she was her handmaid".

"Pleasure to meet you, master Argeleb". Holdwyn bowed with her head and she could see a light blush colouring her cheeks. No matter how many times she had reassured her, she knew she was still unsure about how to behave according to the Gondorian etiquette. But there was really no reason to worry there.

"A Rohirric friend, I see! Come, come child. Be at ease, we are among friends here! Tell me, Holdwyn, where do you come from, exactly? Edoras? Aldburg?".

"I was born at the Hornburg, but my parents moved to Edoras when I was only a few months old".

"Ah, the Helm's Deep! I visited it, you know? Yes, yes…ah it was a long, long time ago. I was an apprentice at the time and my old master had sent me to Rohan to trade some of his craftsmanship!".

"Really?".

"Yes. Though, I have to admit that I did all in my power to make my stay there as short as possible".

The puzzled look Holdwyn threw her did not escape Argeleb: "There was a pretty young lady, the prettiest in fact, which I had left waiting for me in Dol Amroth. I was very, very keen on returning to her as soon as possible".

Argeleb grinned and Holdwyn finally laughed, looking more at ease: "Your wife?".

"Yes, Holdwyn. And if my old eyes do not betray me, I daresay you too have somebody who, were he to be separated from you, he would be counting down the days until you are reunited…".

His head nodded imperceptibly towards Walda, who was looming over them at the doorstep.

"You have good eyes, Master Argeleb. Holdwyn and Walda will get married next spring. In fact, this is exactly why we are here…". Holdwyn looked even more puzzled now, but she didn't give her the time to ask: "You see, Holdwyn is my handmaid but way before that, she is a friend. My best friend, really…".

Argeleb attentively eyed Holdwyn, up and down, nodding: "I suppose it will be green…".

"It will most definitely be green".

"Then you need not to say anything else, Princess".

* * *

"I am not completely sure what just happened…".

"Then don't think about it, Holdwyn"".

"You shouldn't have, Lothíriel".

"Why not. I meant it, you are my best friend. The best friend I have ever had. You have no idea how much you have helped me after the death of Gamling and Andes and you have no idea how much it means for me that you are willing to stay with me in Gondor until the wedding. And yes, I know Walda is staying as well, Valar knows what he would have done, had Eomer sent him back to Edoras. But I know you would have stayed with me regardless. You are postponing your wedding until mine just for the sake of staying with me. A small wedding gift is the least I can do, really".

"What did you mean with _it will most definitely be green_?".

"The dress. You said it was going to be green, which means you c…".

"Isn't that one of King Elessar's couriers?".

Lothíriel's head snapped towards the direction Holdwyn was pointing at. She narrowed her eyes: a man was riding at breakneck speed towards the gates of the palace. Holdwyn was right: it was Hallas, one of the couriers who had been regularly riding between Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth over the past weeks.

But she had never seen him riding with such haste.

She had just the time to exchange a brief look with Holdwyn before they started to run up the stairs and towards the Palace, their guards hurrying behind them.

The sun was high in the sky and by the time they were halfway to the palace, the courier had already disappeared from view. Lothíriel's dress was light, but surely not designed for running, even less so in such warm weather. It stuck to her skin and almost made her trip over more than a few times.

 _Stupid dress!_

She stopped, trying to catch her breath and to pull back her hair. Holding the hem of the skirt in one hand, she lifted it until her knee, hoping that it would give her a bit more freedom. Exhaling deeply, she started again climbing the stairs, her eyes fixed on the steps in front of her, her mind totally elsewhere.

She wasn't even sure what she was hoping more for. News from the war, possibly from Éomer himself.

Or news from Amrothos.

They knew that two weeks earlier one of Lord Arondir's ship had docked in one of the villages they were keeping an eye on. And just like she had suspected, the supplies hadn't stayed there for long. The man assigned to the village by Elphir had already ridden back, bringing news that they had been loaded on another ship and sailed South. Which meant that it was now up to Amrothos to complete their mission and indeed, it was taking him way longer than they had expected. Elphir had reassured her, but she knew he was growing concerned by the day.

 _It has to be something of importance, if the message is being delivered with such haste!_

As she finally stepped into the Palace, she barely had the time to appreciate the hall's cool air. She pushed back the skirt to its customary position and hurried in quick steps towards her father's study.

The door was closed, the air silent. Too silent.

Had she been faster than the courier? _No, that cannot be._

Hesitantly, she knocked on the door.

"Lothíriel?".

"Yes, Elphir. Can I come in?". As she finished the sentence, the door cracked open and she found herself face to face with Cirion, one of her brother's most trusted men.

"Princess Lothíriel".

"Admiral Cirion".

She stepped in the room, her eyes immediately searching for the courier: he was sitting on a chair, looking exhausted and drinking from a big mug of water.

The door clicked closed behind her and over her shoulder, she saw the Admiral standing sternly in front of it.

 _Something's not right._

The air was tense and for a moment, her mind went back to that cold night in Edoras. To those surreal moments before she had understood what was really going on. Again, she glanced back towards the door.

"Elphir?", she looked nervously towards her brother.

"Come, Lothíriel. Drink some water. You look like you'd need it".

"I'm fine. What's going on? Why the haste?".

"It's Amrothos".

"He wrote something? What does he say? Did he manage to find out where the supplies were headed to?".

"South".

Elphir was sitting by her father's desk, completely still, wearing a deep frown, his inscrutable eyes fixed on her.

"South where?".

"South, Lothíriel".

Her mouth opened and closed. She closed her eyes and shook her head: "You mean…".

"I mean South enough to be self-explicatory".

Staggering back of a couple of steps, she heavily fell on a chair. Her hands gripped the armrests and only then, did she realise they were shaking. She breathed deeply, once, twice. "How? W-why? I don't understand…".

"Neither do I. At this stage, we can only make assumptions. Given the shaky state of his finances, the way he has stubbornly refused the deal with Éomer and what is happening in Harad, my guess is that he owes them. We have spent months wondering how the Haradim were managing to get back on their feet so easily: now we know how".

Lothíriel stared at her creased gown. That was not what she had expected. For all the fishy businesses she had been considering, arming the enemy had never come to her mind. Lord Arondir, the heir of one of the most ancient and proud families of all Gondor, conspiring against it. Against their King. Against his allies. Ruthless enough to brainwash her maid and hire an assassin to kill her.

Her mind drifted back to months earlier, to her ride towards Pelargir, to Gamling's stories in front of the fire. Of their friendship blossoming while they were setting in motion the events that would have ultimately brought to his death. And slowly, shock gave place to rage. And then: fear.

"We have to warn them, Elphir! Éomer, father, King Elessar…they fight the enemy in front of them, but they don't know they have one behind their back!".

"This is why Amrothos did not sail back. Hallas brought news from father as well: as we speak, they are laying siege to the Haradim's hideout nearby Umbar. When Amrothos docked in Pelargir and was informed by Faramir, they decided it would be best if he sailed back South and tried to land somewhere North of Umbar. And from there, he will try to ride to father and warn him. Meanwhile, messengers have been dispatched from Minas Tirith to ride via the desert towards our army. Part of our fleet is already sailing South and Admiral Cirion will be leaving tomorrow in order to give Amrothos some additional back-up and hopefully bring back Lord Arondir…".

"I will go with him".

"No, Lothíriel. You can't…".

"I'm not asking for your permission, Elphir. I will go with him. I will wait on the ship, I won't put myself in danger. But I want to be there when they bring him in".

"Why? What…".

"You won't talk me out of this, Elphir. For months I've been trying to warn you about Lord Arondir. None of you ever believed me. Not father, not King Elessar, not Éomer, not you. If it wasn't for Éomer and Faramir, I'd have never been allowed to do any of the things I did. Everytime I told you of my suspicions, you would all look at me like I was a child who needs to learn a new lesson. I'd have never expected Lord Arondir's treason to go this far, but if any of you had believed me, or even just considered the possibility that I was right, we wouldn't find ourselves in this situation. The Haradim could have been dealt with earlier and with less effort, our armies would not have had to spend the summer fighting in the desert with a traitor among their lines. No, Elphir: I will go".

Elphir looked at her, but there wasn't annoyance nor disapproval in his eyes: "I am sorry, Lothíriel. And you are right: never, not even for one moment, have we ever considered your suspicions to be true. Not even last winter, after receiving your letter. I think father tasked Amrothos with the job just to make you happy and prove that you were wrong. And we all agreed with him. So, yes: I am sorry none of us ever took a moment to consider that you might have been right. It was unfair towards you, after all the times you proved yourself. And it was a mistake that me, father, King Elessar, should not have made. For it's costing us much, it's costing us the lives of our men fighting and dying as we speak. But, Lothíriel: I can't allow you to sail South. It's not safe, you might be attacked, captured, killed. The fight is still ongoing as far as we know and I won't let you get any close to it".

* * *

"You resemble someone, wearing that frown…I guess there would be nothing more appropriate than a _grumpy Princess_ to marry a _grumpy King_ ".

She glared at Holdwyn as she joined her on the balcony, looking at the ship of Admiral Cirion getting ready to sail South.

The first rays of the sun were shining over the harbour, the air was cool. The city was just awakening and the roads were still empty, save from a few seagulls cleaning the leftovers from the market of the previous day.

She wasn't even sure what adjective would have best described her mood. She had spent the previous night shifting in her bed, unsuccessfully trying to get some rest. She was angry, sure. She was concerned, of course. But there was something more, something she could not quite put her finger on. She felt restless and antsy, to an extent she did not know how to explain.

"Another courier?".

For the second time in two days, her head snapped again at Holdwyn's words. So engrossed in her brooding, she hadn't even noticed the rider entering the courtyard of the Palace. She gave him a quick look before returning her attention to the ship in the harbour: they had just received tidings the day before. Whatever message this courier was bringing with him, it could wait.

Holdwyn took place next to her, wisely choosing to stay silent.

"Lothíriel?".

She rolled her eyes: why couldn't Gilraen share Holdwyn's wisdom and let her be? She ignored the call, hoping her sister-in-law would understand that she wasn't in the right frame of mind to tolerate her blabbering.

"Lothíriel?".

"Not now, Gilraen".

"A courier just arrived from Minas Tirith…".

"I said: not now".

"If you would let me finish…".

Fists clenched by her sides, she turned towards her sister-in-law: "Valar, Gilraen! Whatever it is, it can wait for a few hours!".

Gilraen huffed and stepped outside: "Stubborn girl! I know you don't want to be bothered right now! The courier delivered a parcel for you from Queen Arwen and he said it is of the uttermost urgency. Here…".

Gilraen passed her a small leather envelop. Stringed to it, a yellowish parchment.

She looked at it and without even knowing why, her heart started to beat faster in her chest. Holding her breath, her fingers slightly trembling in trepidation, she hastily opened the letter:

 _He will need you to light his way out of the shadows._

She read and re-read the words.

She looked at the small, elegant vial that was inside the package.

 _He will need you to light his way out of the shadows._

* * *

Éothain on one side and Erchirion on the other, Éomer strode in quick steps through the dusty, narrow streets of the fortress.

Aligned along the perimeter walls, a long line of prisoners sat still, eyes low, looking beyond exhaustion. He caught a glimpse of a Gondorian passing his water to an old Haradim soldier, helping him drinking some.

Here and there men laid on the ground, whether dead or alive, he did not know.

When they had arrived at the feet of the fortress, some three weeks earlier, he had felt disheartened. The fortress had surely seen better days but even so, it was clear that the walls had been patched and the defences reinforced.

But luckily, just like Aragorn had predicted, not much could have been done with the water supplies.

Indeed, the Haradim had resisted way longer than they had expected. Barricaded behind their solid walls, they had seemed to be taking time. Again.

Concerned that they might have been waiting for reinforcements, they had kept a keen eye on the Harad Road, both towards Umbar and the desert. But nobody had ever shown up.

Slowly, as the water which had been stored in the fortress inexorably run out, malcontent had started to spread through the Haradim's ranks. And finally, only a few hours earlier, the gates of the fortress had opened, revealing a full-scale uproar.

Some people had simply staggered out, hands raised, making for the river. But inside, the battle had already been raging: on the one side those who, tired and exhausted of that endless war, wanted it to be over and treat with Gondor. On the other, those who refused and would have brought everybody to death, rather than surrendering.

Hours of chaos had followed but now, finally, they seemed to have taken control of the situation.

"What's going on there?".

He followed Erchirion's eyes: a thick crowd of Gondorian and Rohirric's soldiers blocked the way. A few of them were hurriedly passing their flasks of water to the people in the front, murmuring to each other in low voices.

They made their way through the crowd and slowly, he could distinguish Aragorn and Imrahil's voices.

As they finally reached the front of the group, Erchirion sucked in his breath: a group of women stood in front of them. More than a few of them were visibly pregnant and among them a young one, almost a girl, really. Her belly was clearly swollen, her eyes fixed on the ground: she was tall, long dark hair, high cheeks.

There was something about her.

Something familiar.

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her: had he met her before? No, he didn't think so. And yet…

"That son of a…".

He turned towards Erchirion. His eyes were fixed on the girl as well, his teeth clenched, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword.

Imrahil looked at his son, his face a mirror of his anger: "Go get him, Erchirion".

Erchirion quickly turned on his feet and strode back the way they had come from, a few of his father's men following him.

Éothain looked at him, confused: "Who's that girl?".

He didn't know who answered, but a whisper spread through the group. He only got three words, and he didn't need more.

 _Lamhel. Arondir. Daughter._

He felt as if somebody had punched him in the stomach.

There were so many thoughts passing through his mind, that he needed a moment before being able to think clearly.

Lord Arondir's daughter was standing in front of them.

And that could only mean one thing: her father had sent her there to marry. To seal a political alliance. And the implications of it, went far beyond what anybody could have ever imagined.

All those unanswered questions: why had Lord Arondir refused trading with Rohan? Why was he interested in the docks? How had the Haradim managed to recover from the war so quickly? Suddenly, it all made sense.

 _Lothíriel_.

She had been right. All that time, stubbornly fighting and trying to overcome their scepticism. She had been right. Lord Arondir was the mind behind her attempted murder. And much more.

He looked back at Lady Lamhel. Of course she looked familiar: she was the spitting image of her father.

If she had ever been a proud Gondorian woman, nothing was left of it. Her skin was tanned, her cheeks sunken. Bluish bruises marked her forearms, her lips were cracked. No sparkle was left in her eyes.

How could a father do this to his daughter?

Without further thought, he turned and hurried back towards the camp. Seeing the thunderous expression on his face, people made him way. If not, he unceremoniously pushed them away.

He saw Erchirion animatedly discussing with one of Lord Arondir's vassals. He pushed him back and gripped the man by the collar of his tunic, lifting him off the ground: "Where is he?".

The man's eyes went wide: "I-I don't know, Éomer King! I swear it. Last time I saw him was hours ago, when the gates of the fortress opened. Please, my Lord. I had no idea, none of us had…".

Abruptly releasing him, he turned towards Éothain: "Send out riders to every direction. I want him to be brought back. Alive".

Éothain nodded and hurried towards their tents, calling to him a few men.

Erchirion looked at them as they mounted their horses: "If he really fled the camp this morning, he's almost one day ahead of us. He might already be on a ship, out of our reach".

* * *

Sitting next to Firefoot while trying to steam off, Éomer observed Aragorn as he escorted Lady Lamhel towards the tent they had given her.

He had cleaned her wounds and, somehow, provided her with clean clothes. She leaned on him, her steps unsure, one hand resting on her swollen stomach, her eyes still fixed on the ground. Aragorn was telling her something, but she did not seem to react at all.

The camp was bursting with activities, yet everything seemed to quiet down as they walked by. There were glances, whispers, shaking heads.

He was ashamed to admit it, but he felt pity for her. Pity for her stolen youth, for the betrayal of her father, for the horrors she must have gone through over the past months. For what was yet to come: glances and whispers were probably going to follow her everywhere. Her, and her son. A half Gondorian, half Haradim, he would always be seen as the emblem of the treason of his grandfather. Even though he had no fault, even though he wasn't even born, even though his mother was as much a victim as he was. So many lives destroyed by the ruthless greediness of one single man.

Giving Firefoot a last stroke on the nuzzle, he sighed and slowly stood up, making his way towards Aragorn's tent.

The water basins and the ointments he had had used to clean Lady Lamhel's wounds were still scattered around, their pungent smell filling the air.

Standing on a small table in the corner was a bottle of liquor: he recognised it. One evening, during the celebrations at the Fields of Cormallen, Amrothos and Erchirion had showed up at his tent, each holding a bottle of it. Next thing he could remember was waking up on the ground on the following morning, one brother on each side, both still asleep and loudly snoring.

Grabbing one of the glasses, he helped himself. It tasted smoky yet fruity, just slightly sweeter than he remembered.

The bottle must have been brought all the way from Gondor in the hope that there would have been something to celebrate, at some point. But right then, celebrating was the last thing on his mind.

He took a few more sips, enjoying its spicy, rich taste. As he poured himself another glass, he heard the flap of the tent being opened and soon Imrahil took the seat in front of him, quickly followed by Aragorn.

He made for pouring them a glass but they both shook their heads.

 _Nothing to celebrate indeed._

For a while nobody spoke, the sounds of the men celebrating their victory and the imminent return home making for a surreal contrast with the mood inside the tent.

Imrahil was first at breaking the heavy silence: "Has she said anything?".

Aragorn sighed and took a moment before answering, as if he himself was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened: "They had no idea. Not her, nor her mother. End of last year, her father suddenly announced that he had arranged her wedding and forced her to cut all her tidings in Gondor. Her mother grew suspicious and, once she had found out what was going on, she confronted her husband. That was the last time she saw her, for shortly afterwards her father put her on a ship to Umbar".

Aragorn paused, smoking pensively from his pipe: "The wealth of their family extinguished years ago, when her grandfather was still alive and the last gold nugget was mined from their caves. They didn't even know that: they continued living according to the standards they were used to and, soon enough, Lord Arondir found himself facing serious financial troubles. In order to keep up appearances, he sought help outside of Gondor, became involved with the Haradim and the Corsairs long before the war. The damage he could have brought to Gondor got somehow tampered by Lord Denethor's mistrust towards everybody, him and his family most of all. But after the war, he found himself able to play a key role: he would have helped the Haradim defeating Gondor before we were able to recover and, once Minas Tirith had fallen, he would have been given the seat that had been of the Stewards, ruling the city as a feud of Harad. Lady Lamhel is Lord Arondir's only offspring: for the Haradim, having her marrying one of their own, having her sons being raised in Harad, meant ensuring complete control over Gondor after Lord Arondir's death".

Imrahil shook his head: "So this is why he refused selling to Rohan, this is why he needed the docks…".

"Yes. Shipping from the docks of one of the Guilds could have raised suspicions on the long run. Not to mention that at the time, Faramir was in deep negotiations with them: it was likely that somebody would have noticed something weird going on. Putting his hands on the docks of the Guild of the Fishermen was the cleanest way to proceed. But then, Lothíriel happened: she appeared in Minas Tirith and, cornered, Lord Arondir was forced to give up on the food supplies' in his possession in exchange for the ownership of the docks. The Haradim were in dire needs at the time and threatened to expose him, were he not to provide them with what he had promised. And so, he was forced to purchase additional supplies here and there, compromising even more his financial situation. It wasn't until months later that he told this to his daughter, and yet she says he was still furious with Lothíriel for the troubles she had caused him. It was the beginning of January by then and he only added that she should not have worried, for _Princess Lothíriel was being taken care of_ ".

Imrahil exhaled, his fists clenched so tight that he could see his knuckles turning white: "He must have known…that we were keeping an eye on him, on his movements…".

"Yes. But what escaped his web of spies, was that I had sent rangers South. We weren't supposed to notice what was going on here, not so soon at least. This is why the Haradim chose this fortress as a hideout: they knew that, had they stayed along the shoreline, they were luckily to be spotted by one of our ships. Being called to war surely took Lord Arondir by surprise, but...".

"But he knew we were expecting this campaign to be quick and that we were unprepared for a long stay, so he advised the Haradim to make us loose time all with those pointless skirmishes in the desert", he finished for him.

Aragorn nodded and again, silence descended inside the tent. Éomer was about to pour himself another glass of liquor, when suddenly Imrahil snapped from his chair and, hands behind his back, started to pace up and down the tent: "We shall send word to Gondor, in case he is planning to ride by it".

Éomer walked to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort: "I already did, Imrahil. I've sent out two couriers, one to Minas Tirith and one to Dol Amroth. They will be informed as soon as possible".

Imrahil sighed and rubbed his eyes: "Thank you, Éomer. I guess I owe you and Lothíriel an apology…".

"You owe me nothing, Imrahil. I never really believed Lothíriel to be right. I supported her because I didn't want her to be alone in all of this, because I was afraid she would endanger herself and end up like my sister".

Aragorn stood and joined them: "We do all owe an apology to your daughter".

There was a bitter smile on Imrahil's face: "One would think a father should know better his daughter. I failed her as a father and in doing so, I failed as a Prince. I should have never dismissed her idea so quickly, I should have been more careful…".

"You are not alone in this, Imrahil".

"I know, I know. But I'm her father, Aragorn. For nigh twenty years she has continuously proved me that she wasn't who I asked her to be. Not a frivolous Princess, not a girl expecting her life's goals to be achieved with a convenient marriage…The deeds of your sister shall have taught us something, Éomer. And yet, I did not give her credit…". Imrahil mirrored his gesture and rested a hand on his shoulder: "I am glad you have found each other, Éomer. You may not have believed her, but you were wise enough to understand that she needed your support. And I know you will always do, you will always allow her to be herself…that's more than any of us has ever done for her…".

Éomer had always thought Imrahil to look way younger than his age. Maybe it was that innate elegance, that grace that seemed to accompany him even on the battlefield. It made it easy to forget how he old he really was but right then, for the first time, it wasn't so. The Prince of Dol Amroth appeared like an old man, crushed by regrets and worries

Éomer gave his shoulder a light squeeze: "Imrahil…".

"Ah don't mind me, Éomer. I'm being regretful when indeed we have things to rejoice from, even now. Let's discuss the plans for tomorrow, shall we?".

* * *

It wasn't until much later that Éomer finally left Aragorn's tent.

The events of the day weighted heavily on his mind. He should have been happy that on the morrow they would start making ready to ride back, but he felt simply too tired, too exhausted.

In the darkness of the silent camp, he dragged one feet after the other, fighting with all his strengths to keep his eyes open, to keep going. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake himself from that drowsiness, that torpor.

 _Bema, I'm really getting old._ _A half-day fight and a few drinks and I'm as good as dead…_

It seemed to him ages before he was finally able to spot his tent: he didn't even bother greeting the guards. Instead, he went straight for his cot and let himself fall on it.

The memories of the night he had spent on that very same cot with Lothíriel while on their way to Minas Tirith, quickly flashed through his mind. Her scent, her soft hair, her smooth skin. Her legs locking around him, her hands, her lips.

As darkness enveloped him, she was all he could think of.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** here's another chapter! Took me a bit-longer than I thought but it wasn't the easiest one to write. The plot against Lothíriel has finally unfolded…I hope I haven't disappointed you and that the extent of Lord Arondir's treason came as a surprise. If you wish, let me know what you think about it! :)

 _Solar1:_ thank you for your review. Glad to know you've been missing this story! Well, by now my idea should be rather clear, though I will say that we are not nearly done with this story! Much has yet to come…

 _Menelwen:_ Aww, thank you so much! It's great to hear you are enjoying a story in which I'm trying to mix romance and plot twists while providing characters with more complex personalities (especially Éomer, in this case). And I'm happy to hear that reading this story makes for a good exercise for your English, for it's the same for me while writing it! I don't speak Spanish, but I'm guessing its sentences' structure to be similar to Italian (my mother tongue), which makes quite the challenge when writing in English. Also: don't worry, for I do always keep a dictionary next to me as well! :)

As for the story itself, I have to say that I was planning it to resolve completely around Lord Arondir's treason. However, along the way I found myself adding further characters and subplots, meaning the story is still quite far from its end. Worry not, for I won't leave any loose end!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Greeting from Switzerland! ;)


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

 _Harad, 17_ _th_ _July, 3020_

As the lights of the camp finally appeared in front of them, Lothíriel tightened her hold on Sparkler's reins and turned towards Walda.

The young rider seemed to read her thoughts: "We are almost there, Princess. No reason to hurry, you would only endanger yourself and your horse in this pitch darkness".

She nodded and returned her attention to the road in front of them.

Truth to be told, riding in such darkness was disconcerting. If it wasn't that she so desperately needed to get to the camp as soon as possible, she would have gladly stopped and waited for the first rays of sun to lighten the way ahead of them.

But at that point, nothing mattered anymore. Not the dark way in front of them nor the dangers of the road, not her father's shock when he would see her there nor his fury when he would learn how she had cheated on Amrothos and Admiral Cirion, defied their orders and led Walda on a wild run through the desert.

Her hands reached for the pocket of her tunic, as if willing to reassure that everything was in the right place.

"Seems luck is on our side, Princess".

Looking ahead, she could now distinguish the shapes of the guards at the entrance of the camp. She had long learned to trust Walda's eagle's eyes without questioning: "You know the men on duty?".

"We both do. The one on the left is Herubrand: at least we will be granted a smooth access to the camp without much questioning".

As the sound of the hooves of their horses reached them, the guards turned towards the direction they were coming from: "Who's there?".

Walda quickly passed her and placed himself in front of her: "Herubrand, it's me: Walda".

The guards lowered their spears and exchanged a few confused glances, while Herubrand stepped forward: "Walda? What are you doing here? I thought you in Dol Amroth with the Princess…".

"In Dol Amroth, no. With the Princess, yes". As he finished the sentence, he turned towards her and signalled to come forward.

A buzz of whispers and gasps crossed the group as she came into the light, but she had no time to pay them any heed: "Bring me to his tent, Herubrand".

The rider seemed to hesitate and even in the dim, flickering light of the torches, there was no mistake the worry in his eyes: "Princess…".

"Now, Herubrand!", she snapped as she dismounted her horse and passed his reins to one of the guards.

His mouth shut closed and he gave her a nodding before starting to lead the way across the camp in long strides. She almost had to run to keep his pace but when he turned towards her, she reassured him: "Don't stop! Fast!".

She could hear Walda's steps behind her and slowly, people around them started to recognise her. She was almost sure that she had seen one of her father's man running away as he saw her, no doubt towards the Prince's tent. She nervously looked around: the last thing she wanted was to be delayed by her family.

"How far is it, Herubrand?".

"There, Princess".

Following his finger, she could now see it: Éomer's tent. The same she had seen being mounted every evening on their way to Minas Tirith, the same she had sneaked in with the complicity of Holdwyn and Éowyn.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath was short.

As they approached the tent, another familiar face welcomed her: "Princess Lothíriel?".

As the southern campaign was being prepared, she remembered discussing its arrangements with Éomer. Unlike her father, he had been more than willing to share the details with her. She had no experience when it came to war or battles and could not offer much advise, but she had felt so pleased that he hadn't left her out of all of that, that he had confided in her.

One of the things they had discussed, was who would have been left in charge back in Edoras. In the end, Éomer had decided it would have been Erkenbrand: over the past winter he had proved an excellent leader, he had managed to mitigate the impact of the cold season on his folks and under his rule, the Westfold was already thriving.

With Erkenbrand in Edoras, the choice of the second in command during the campaign had obviously felt on the Marshall of the Eastmark: "Marshall Elfhelm".

He looked clearly aghast, staring at her up and down as if he could not quite believe his own eyes: "What are….".

"Not now, Elfhelm", she cut him short, "I need you to send for King Elessar. Immediately".

"My Lady, Éomer King is…".

"I know, Elfhelm. That's why I'm here, but I need King Elessar. So, please: bring him here!".

It seemed as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it: "Yes, Princess".

Lothíriel made for entering the tent but, at the last moment, something came to her mind and she turned yet again towards the Marshall: "One more thing, Elfhelm: keep my father and brothers out".

"Brothers?".

"Amrothos might show up any moment. Just don't let them in: I will deal with them when all is over".

Again, it looked as if there were thousands of questions on Elfhelm's lips. But again, he thought better than prying any longer: "Yes, Princess".

Satisfied, she raised her hand on the flap of the tent. She exhaled deeply: once, twice. Whatever she would find inside, she needed to stay strong.

Finally, she stepped in.

Familiar rugs covered the ground. A half empty bowl of soup, a jag of water and a few clean rags stood on a table. Incense filled her nostrils: a smell reminiscent of faraway places and exotic shores.

She knew where the cot was, could guess its shape. Slowly, one inch at a time, bracing herself for whatever she would see there, her eyes raised towards it.

Ever since receiving Arwen's cryptic message, her nights had been plagued by bloody nightmares. She knew _he_ was the one who needed her, and she could guess that something had happened during the war. But _what_ had happened, that she did not know. She had tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the fact that there must have been hope, for otherwise why would the Queen write such message. But no matter how much she tried to keep the conscious part of her mind on positive thoughts, she had no control over the other one. Her subconscious tormented her sleep, presenting her with a gallery of umpteenth scenarios of what might have happened, of the extent of Éomer's injuries.

One night she would dream that he had been mortally wounded by a spear, the whole thing all too reminiscent of Andes' death. Another that he had lost a limb. Once she had dreamed that he had somehow been caught in a fire, that she would enter his tent and would not even be able to recognise him.

Her mind played her tricks, the memories of the terrible injuries she had witnessed in the House of Healing now re-surfacing. Only, it wasn't one of her father's men lying in his deathbed. It was Éomer and she could not save him, just like she could not save Gamling. And like him, he would die in her arms, unspoken words on his lips.

None of them. None of those awful visions even remotely matched with what she could see now.

Éomer laid on his coat, with what seemed to be a light blanket only partially covering his legs. Her eyes roamed over his body, searching for signs of the injury, the wound that was threatening to take him away from this world, from her.

But there was none.

He laid, completely still. There was no furrow nor sign of pain on his face and for a moment, she thought all was lost. She thought that despite everything, despite the day and a half gallop through the desert, she was too late.

When something moved behind her, she almost jumped out of her skin.

She snapped around and found herself staring into King Elessar's wise eyes. His mouth was moving, opening and closing, and it took her a moment to realise that he was speaking, he was telling her something.

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes and slowly, the sounds of the world came back to her. A general murmur and above it, a voice. Her father's voice, demanding to be granted access to the tent. Elf helm's voice denying his request, frenzied movements, as if her father was trying to force his way in.

"Lothíriel?".

King Elessar was still looking at her as she tried to shake herself back to reality.

It costed her all her courage to ask it, too afraid of what the answer would be: "Is he…".

Aragorn sighed and though the concern in his eyes was clear, he quickly reassured her: "No, he yet lives. But...but I do not expect him to survive the night, Lothíriel".

He was not dead, he lived! Dodging King Elessar, she rushed to him, took one of his hands into hers, called his name. His breath was even, his skin cool: "What happened?".

"You were right, Lothíriel. About Lord Arondir: you were right".

"I know I was, that's why I'm here! Is this his doing? What has he done to him?".

King Elessar dipped one of the rags in some ointment and gently rubbed it on Éomer's forehead: "The moment we entered the fortress, he knew everything to be over, he knew we would have found out about his betrayal. In the midst of the chaos that followed, he fled the camp. But before that, he tried playing one last card. The day we rode from Minas Tirith, your father gifted me a bottle of an Amrothian liquor. As a good omen that we would have had something to celebrate. It was always in my tent and Lord Arondir must have seen it. Before fleeing, he poisoned it. I guess in his plan we would have all drank from it: me, your father, Éomer. In one swift move, he would have got rid of us all and thrown Gondor and Rohan into chaos. But we didn't drink it: not me, nor your father. We didn't really feel like celebrating and I think Éomer drank it only to calm his nerves. Two, maybe three glasses. Then he went sleeping and we didn't realise something was amiss until the morning after, when he did not awake…".

 _Poison, that's why…_

Frantically searching inside her pocket, she pulled out its precious content: "A week ago Queen Arwen sent me this", she said as she passed the vial to King Elessar, "with no explanation, only a few lines, _he will need you to light his way out of the shadows._ I convinced Elphir, almost forced him really, to let me sail with our fleet to Umbar. I came as quickly as I could…".

King Elessar seemed surprise as he examined the vial and carefully opened it, smelling its content: "It's an Elvish antidote, most probably brewed by Lord Elrond himself…".

"Will it help? Will it save him? Please…", Lothíriel felt on the verge of tears and she struggled to keep as calm as she could. "Please, King Elessar…".

"It has already been three days since the poisoning, Lothíriel. I have tried to do what I could, but we were not even able to determine with certainty which substance was he exposed to...".

Her voice was something in between a shriek and a cry, but she did not even care whether she was shouting to her King's face: "It can't be too late, I refuse to accept it! We _must_ try!"

"And we will. I wasn't expecting him to survive the night but if there is something that might save him, it's the content of this vial and your presence here, Lothíriel".

"Just tell me what I shall do, and I will!".

"I will prepare the antidote. There is enough for a few days: we will give him the first dose immediately, and then again tomorrow morning. Stay with him, Lothíriel. Speak to him…".

" _Light his way out of the shadows?_ ", she suggested with trembling voice.

King Elessar gave her a gentle smile: "Yes. He loves you, Lothíriel. If there is one voice, one touch that might reach him, no matter how far from us his mind is wandering, it's yours".

* * *

"Princess?".

Lothíriel snapped from her chair: light was flooding the tent and the familiar buzz of the awakening camp filled the air.

How could have she fallen asleep? Sleeping was not why she was there!

"Tis' alright, Princess. Aragorn has already given him the second dose…".

"Why haven't you woken me up? You shouldn't have left me sleeping!".

"Aragorn said you could use some rest after all you went through over the past days. Don't worry, he is still with us, he survived the night", Éothain said, nodding towards the cot.

Éomer was still asleep: it did not seem like he had moved at all during the night, though something had changed in his expression. Yes, there was a hint of a furrow, even if the slightest one. Her _grumpy King!_

She gently took one of his hand and planted a light kiss on his forehead: "Éomer? It's me, Lothíriel…". She looked closely at his face, searching for any sign of consciousness. But she found none.

Still holding on his hand, she heavily fell back on her chair: "I'm sorry, Éothain. I came here to help him and I fell asleep instead…".

The Captain kneeled next to her: "Don't be sorry, Princess: what you did is nothing short than miraculous. Did you know that Walda refused to leave the entrance of the tent? He even defied Elfhelm's orders to go get some rest and has been driving your father mad…speaking of which…".

"I have no time nor the mood to listen to his lecture, Éothain".

"Lecture? Oh Princess, if you could see him, you would know that a lecture is the last thing on his mind. Your brother, maybe…".

"Amrothos?".

"He rode in a few hours ago, started running around like a mad man, crying and breaking into any tent, turning every stone as if you might have been hiding under it. He did not calm down until your father's men dragged him away and your father threatened to tie and gag him up. Actually, he might have just done it for I haven't seen him nor heard him ever since…".

"I gave him quite the scare. When we arrived in Umbar it was already darkening and Amrothos and Admiral Cirion agreed to wait until morning to ride. I did not want to wait but I knew that trying to convince them was pointless. So I waited until they went sleeping and with the help of Holdwyn, me and Walda sneaked out of the camp and rode away…".

Still holding on his hand, Lothíriel looked back at Éomer: he was tanned, more than she had ever seen him before, his blond hair spread on the pillow, his chest rhythmically expanding. _I wasn't expecting him to survive the night._

"A reckless plan, Princess. One I'm so glad you pursued. Me and everybody else around here, including your father".

She glanced at him, surprised by his words.

"Princess, can I let him in? If only you could see him…he is worried, nay devastated by the events of the last days. He is not here to lecture you, that I can promise…".

Lothíriel was taken aback by his statement. She had expected her father to be furious with what she had done, to drag her back to Dol Amroth and lock her in a room, to give her a lifelong scolding on how stupid and immature she had been. That was why she had asked to keep him away, she did not have the strength nor the time to waste with his reaming and, also, she was terribly afraid that she would have given in to anger.

For she was, angry. But now, listening to Éothain's words, anger seemed to fade away, replaced by a bottomless sadness. Her father, her noble, loving father…

"Let him in, Éothain".

Éothain quickly stood up and left the tent. She heard him murmuring something and soon enough, somebody came in. She raised her eyes: her father stood in front of her, hands behind his back, shoulders hanging. There were deep circles around his eyes and he seemed so tired, so…defeated.

All the angst from the previous days, the uncertainty, the fear, the feeling of being constantly walking on the edge of an abyss, where one misstep would mean the end of everything. She felt a lump in her throat and in two quick steps, she was in her father's arms, sobbing, crying all the tears she had been trying to keep at bay.

He held her to his chest, gently rubbing her back, kissing her hair and murmuring: "My dear, dear daughter…".

He waited until she had calmed down and even then, he did not loosen its hold, cradling her for a while longer. As she finally straightened up and looked into his eyes, she wasn't surprised to find them misty, one single tear running down his cheek and getting lost into a growing beard: "I'm sorry, Lothíriel. I'm sorry that I did not trust you, that I disregarded your ideas…I'm sorry that I tried to keep you and Éomer apart…I'm sorry that I never tried to better understand you…I was blessed with the most beautiful, smart daughter a father could wish for, and there I was, trying to turn you in just any another woman".

"Father don't…".

"Hush, let me say what needs to be told. I've wronged you, Lothíriel, more than I realized. And look where we have ended up…".

"It's not your fault, father".

"It is, at least partially. We both know it".

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs rubbed her cheeks and he looked at her for some long moments before sighing deeply: "Now, why don't we sit down together and you tell me everything that has happened? I bet Éomer is as curious as I am to learn how this Gondorian Princess landed in Harad in the middle of the night".

"Amrothos hasn't told you?".

He threw his hands in the air, as if she had just reminded him of something that was exasperating him: "That one's gone mad. He has yet to start making sense, I had to put guards to watch him, least he would have charged inside this tent, sword in hand if needed. Mind you, it might take a while before he will forgive you!".

"I'm sorry, father. I will speak to him".

"Good luck with that, you might want to bring that Rohirrim guard of yours when you do it".

Despite all, despite the desperate predicament they found themselves in, that got a little smile out of her: "Alright. So, where shall I start from?".

"I'm quite curious to know how did you find out about Lord Arondir's treason. That's why you are here, isn't it?".

"Yes and no. After you left Minas Tirith, I started looking around. But all I managed to collect, were dead ends. So I tried to play one last card: I suspected Lord Arondir to have an informant, somebody who allowed him to know our moves in advance. And I was fairly sure his trade had nothing to do with Belfalas. So I asked Elphir to set up a trap: have him thinking that we were, once again, simply keeping an eye on his shipments. But this time, we did not stop after the goods were delivered, instead tracking them down until they had reached their ultimate destination. Turned out they got quickly loaded on another ship and sailed South. Amrothos followed them and once he found out where they were headed to, everything was clear. When we received Amrothos' letter, he was already sailing South with our fleet, so that he could warn you and offer coverage from the sea. Turned out to be a good idea for they intercepted some ships carrying troops' reinforcements and managed to cut them down before they could reach you".

"That's why… when we arrived here, we had the feeling that they were taking time, as if they were expecting help to be on the way…".

"Yes. Though Amrothos said they were not nearly enough to cause you too much troubles. Still, you would have found yourself engaged on two fronts…".

"What then?".

"Elphir ordered Admiral Cirion to sail South and bring back Lord Arondir. I tried to convince him to let me tag along, but he wouldn't let me. Then, the morning they were making ready to leave, a messenger from Queen Arwen arrived in Dol Amroth".

She passed her father the small yellow parchment and looked at him frowning as he read its content: "I only knew it was _him_ she was talking about. I knew it. I showed the message to Elphir and though he was very reluctant, in the end he allowed me to join Admiral Cirion. When we arrived in Umbar, the fight had just ended. I'm sure Amrothos will give you more details…he almost chocked when he saw me there but since we arrived at sunset, he decided that it was unwise to start riding towards the camp before the next day. I knew it was pointless to try to convince them otherwise, so…".

"You run off in the middle of the night?".

"One might say so, yes. We exchanged clothes with Holdwyn and I posed as her. I took Walda with me and we pretended we were heading out for a romantic stroll or something of the sort….and then we rode. Took us one day and a half of almost non-stop riding to get here…".

Imrahil rubbed his eyes and breathed deeply, most probably trying not to think about the dangers she had exposed herself to with her reckless behaviour. However, just like Éothain had predicted, he was not there to lecture her: instead, he extended his hand towards hers and gave it a light squeeze.

"Father?".

"Yes, Lothíriel".

"What has happened here? I mean: King Elessar told me about Lord Arondir and the poison, but…what happened before? What happened when you took the fortress?".

"Well, to start from, we did not really _take_ the fortress. Rather: they let us take it. They had run out of water, the reinforcements they were hoping for failed to show up and so at some point, a riot started. The gates opened and it took us one full day just to sedate the insurrection. When we reached the main bastion, where the Harad leaders had their headquarter, we found their wives and a few of their children, all young ones, all blown by the siege. Lady Lamhel among them".

She looked at her father, shocked: "Lady Lamhel? No, you mean...".

"Lord Arondir's treason goes far, Lothíriel. He was involved with the Haradim since before the war, owned them much. The hand of his daughter was but one of the prices they asked him to pay. One he agreed to pay without much regrets, apparently".

Stunned by her father's revelation, Lothíriel took a moment to process what she had just been told. It looked like everytime she thought she had finally grasped the extent of Lord Arondir's conniving plan, new details would emerge bringing the whole thing on a complete new level. It seemed as if they could not stop underestimating what he was capable of.

Her stream of thoughts was abruptly interrupted by somebody clearing his voice: "Good morning, Princess".

Marshall Elfhelm exchanged a quick look with her father: "Daughter, why don't you go getting something to eat, maybe freshen up and change into clean clothes?".

She raised her eyebrows: "I'm sorry?". As if changing into clean clothes was anywhere near her list of priorities. _Preposterous!_

"Princess, we need to change Éomer King's clothes, so…".

"So you should leave the tent, daughter. Just for a few minutes".

"Absolutely not! They can do it with me here. If you are concerned about propriety, I promise I'll look the other way. I did not cross this cursed desert to be kicked out of this tent, I won't let you…".

"Lothíriel, don't you think Éomer would prefer it as well?".

 _Ah, father. If only you would know…_

"I have to agree with the Prince. It won't take us more than a few minutes, don't worry. Walda is waiting with something to eat and we have managed to find something for you to change clothes, if you wish to".

Why was everybody so fixated with the state of her clothes?! Slowly getting irritated, she stood up: "I'm not sure why you are all so concerned about my attire, however…".

"Éomer's nose would be happy, when he wakes up".

She looked at her father, horrified: "Father!".

"Come, Lothíriel. You have spent nigh a week on a boat, seldom changing into something clean I suppose. Then, you rode for a day and a half in this torrid desert. It's not like anything different could be expected".

She knew her cheeks were in flames. The only thing she was not sure about, was whether it was out of embarrassment or anger.

"Don't make us beg, Lothíriel. It won't take long and I promise I'll be right here: if anything changes I will call you immediately, regardless of Éomer's…decency".

More guards entered the tent and she took just a moment to glare at her father before storming out, mumbling and muttering: "As if you men don't smell like dead orcs when you come back from a battle!".

She heard a few chuckles and upon getting out of the tent, she came across Erchirion. He looked at her with a smug face: "And what would a Princess know about the smell of dead orcs?".

"Point one: I would know because I've seen them. Point two: because I grew up with you!".

She shoved him aside and strode towards Walda, grabbed the food he was offering her and went seating on a small rock, slightly aside the burst of the camp but still in plain view of the tent. She stuffed the food in her mouth and angrily chewed on it. She was almost done, when somebody came sitting next to her.

She turned, some angry remark already forming in her head and…she swallowed it, almost chocking on her food.

 _Lady Lamhel_. Or better said: what was left of her.

She realized that she was staring and diverted her eyes, mortified. Her father had not mentioned she was pregnant, her father had not mentioned she was half the woman she used to be. She kept her eyes on the ground, desperately trying to think of something to say. But what could she say, that would make any difference?

"Your father mentioned you needed clean clothes. There are some in my tent, if you don't mind wearing a Haradim gown, that is".

She had somehow expected her voice to be different. To be desperate. Or maybe angry. Instead, it was flat, stripped of any colour, of any emotion.

"Thank you, Lady Lamhel. A Haradim gown will do just fine".

"There is some water as well, in case you want to freshen up".

"Yes, thank you. That would be great".

An uncomfortable silence descended over them and she tried to finish her food as quickly as possible, never averting her eyes from Éomer's tent.

"We have never liked each other, have we?". Lady Lamhel's eyes were fixed on some undefined point of the camp and she did not turn towards her as she spoke: "Well, I've never liked you to be sure. Thought I hated you. Maybe I really did".

She gave her a furtive glance. Like her mother, Lady Lamhel had always been the epitome of the Gondorian beauty: porcelain skin, luscious dark hair, lean and tall, elegant and refined. But after six months in Harad, she did not seem the same person anymore. And it didn't even have much to do with her appearance: sure, her skin was tanned, her hair looked like burned straw, she had lost weight, she was pregnant. But it wasn't really that, to mark the difference with the Lady Lamhel she remembered from the banquets in Minas Tirith. It was the fact that, right then, it seemed like she was speaking to a ghost, to the shadow of Lady Lamhel, to an empty shell.

"I thought you a disgrace to your house. Many did. A Princess, the highest-ranking woman in all Gondor, old enough to marry and yet still playing the man, pretending to be what she was not. Trading on behalf of Dol Amroth at day, attending court's events at night. As if, for whatever reason, you could be both. A man in charge of his family's business at day, a frivolous woman at night. As if you were better than us all".

"Lady Lamhel that was never my intention…".

But she cut her short: "My father used to tell me that I should have been a Princess. For I was the most beautiful daughter of Gondor, mannered and educated, the pride of her family. He used to tell me that it was just because of your rank, that you were allowed to do as you wished, to play outside of the rules. He used to tell me that no one would have ever wanted a woman like you, that you would have become an old spinster just like your aunt, while I was destined for great things. And I believed him. I've always hated you, always thought it unfair that you were a Princess and I was not. My friends and I used to make fun of you, gossip of your whereabouts".

She did not know what to say. She knew that her involvement in her families' business was frowned upon by most of the Gondorian nobility. And she knew she had never really been the epitome of the Gondorian Princess. But she had not expected such hatred.

"Lady Lamhel, I'm sorry if I ever…".

But she was not done yet: "And yet, despite what we judged to be a despicable behaviour, despite all your shortcomings, coming fall we learned that you would have been spending the winter at the court of Éomer King. And we hated and envied you even more, if possible. Every eligible woman in Gondor had tried to catch the King's eye, and each one of them had miserably failed, me among the others. He had barely looked at us, avoided us, hardly spoken a word. None of us truly believed that whole Ambassador thing. We were all sure that you went there to get acquainted with Rohan. We were all sure that your father, the mighty Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, had managed to secure a political alliance by arranging your wedding with Éomer King. Where the shortcomings of her daughter could not reach, his wisdom did. Again, you were besting us all".

Again, silence descended. There were many things she would have liked to say, but she knew it was not the time nor the place. And quite frankly, she did not care. She did not care if she had not been popular, she did not care if other women had gossiped about her. She had left petty thoughts and silly occupations behind, the moment she had left Minas Tirith together with Gamling. The present was all that mattered.

"I don't want this child".

Lady Lamhel's words hanged in the air. To be honest, she wasn't even surprised to hear them.

"I want my old life back. I want to wake up and find out this was all but a nightmare".

"You can't. None of us can, none of us can turn back time. All we can do, is manage with the present we have been given".

"Easy for you to say".

This time, she openly stared at her: "Easy?".

"You always land on your feet. You escaped my father's assassin, you arrived here just in time to save your precious King…you will marry him, you will move to Edoras and you will be happy. And what of the rest of us? Of me. Of those women who had shared my fate. What is left for us? Look at me, Princess: I am disgraced, the daughter of a man who almost managed to bring down Gondor and Rohan at once. What can I hope for, when I get back. Nobody will ever want me, this child will never be accepted. All those years spent gossiping behind your back: now it's going to be me, us, the ones the court will mock and whisper about".

For all she could say, she knew she was right. The court could be a cruel, merciless beast. Especially for women. Especially among women.

"Then leave the court, at least for a while".

The woman's hands were shaking now, closed in tight fists, her breath heavy.

"You could go staying with my aunt in Lebennin, if you wish to. I could speak to her, I'm sure she will have no objections. She might be an old spinster, but she's a formidable woman. You have no fault for what has happened, Lady Lamhel. And neither has your child. I will not pretend to understand what you've been through, but I know how many lives have been ended or ruined by your father's actions. A man I had almost come to consider like a second father has died in my arms, trying to save me from your father' assassin. I would not want to see any other life doomed on your father's account. Not yours, nor your child's one".

Though she was clearly trying hard not to, tears started to pour from Lady Lamhel's eyes. She was gasping, sobbing, shaking. Lothíriel reached for her and took her in her arms, gently stroking her back and waiting for her to calm down.

* * *

As the sun set for the fourth time since her arrival in the camp, Lothíriel looked at the still figure of Éomer.

After the initial optimism that her coming had brought, the stagnation of Éomer's condition had caused a tense and almost surreal atmosphere to spread. She had been trying to stay optimist, to show that their hopes were not lost. But for each day that passed, for each hour that Éomer would spend lying still on his cot, a cold fear would grow inside her, gripping her heart, tormenting her.

She had tried it all. She had spent four days by his side, holding his hand, talking to him of everything she could think of. Childhood memories, their time in Edoras, the hope of a future together. Endless times had she told him how much she loved him, begged him to come back to her, for nothing was worth without him. But nothing had changed his stillness. Sometimes, she was tempted of taking him by the shoulders and shake him, of yelling him that he had to wake up.

Just like she had done on the previous nights, she waited for the sounds of the camp to wane and then she slipped next to him. Mindful to leave him as much space as possible, she lied on the edge of the cot and snuggled by his side, one hand resting on his chest, looking for the reassurance of his steady beat.

She woke up hours later: the sun must have been rising, for there was only a pale light filling the tent. The air was silent, too silent: not even birds were dwelling in that place. As she tried to stand up, she gradually became aware of a piercing pain in her shoulder.

Her mind still half asleep, she thought it was the result of the precarious position she had slept in. Only, when she tried to probe it and see how bad it was, she realized her pain was of a different nature.

A hand was painfully gripping her shoulder. Éomer's hand.

She snapped towards him and, for a short moment, relief and joy flooded through her as she realized he was awake, his eyes open. But, almost immediately, she froze: yes, his eyes were wide open. Fixed on the roof of the tent. Full of anguish, fear even. His breath was laboured, his body tense. His fingers were digging in her shoulder harder and harder.

Terrified, she cried his name: "Éomer?".

He did not answer and as panic slowly crept inside her, she called him again, desperate for hearing his voice: "Éomer? What is it? What's wrong?".

He looked at her. That look, she knew it was going to stay with her for the rest of her days: "My legs. I can't feel my legs".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** oh my! Sorry, that's one mean way of ending a chapter! I thought of waiting until the next one for Éomer to wake up, but in the end I decided otherwise. I hope it doesn't all feel too rushed. As usual, I'll be happy to hear what you think of it! :)

 _MissCallaLilly:_ I'm very glad to hear it! It took me a while to bring the story here, so I really had high hopes for the previous chapter.

 _Catspector:_ I think nobody will ever underestimate her again! ;)

 _the-mighty-pen325_ : grazie! :) I'm actually so happy to receive a review from you! I've always loved your stories and it's great to hear you are enjoying mine. I'm jealously waiting to end this story to finish reading yours (somehow, I find it hard to read long stories about Éomer and Lothíriel while I'm writing one…). Hope you liked this chapter as well!

 _Menelwen:_ the meaning of the mysterious message has been unveiled! Let's see what happens now…


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

 _Near Harad, 15th August 3020_

A mild wind gently swelled their sails. The sea was calm and blue and from time to time, dolphins would emerge around them, escorting their sailing for a while before disappearing again.

Thirty-seven steps. Five to get out of the small kitchen. Four steps up. Eleven to the below deck. Six steps down. Eight to reach the door of the cabin. Three to be by his side.

Lothíriel carefully balanced the small tray, trying with each step to compensate for the ship's rocking. Knocking was the most treacherously part and during the first days, she had spilled more than one mug of water. Now, she seemed to be getting the knack of it.

She didn't expect an answer, but waited nonetheless for a few seconds before pulling down the handle of the door with her elbow.

The air inside the cabin was stiff but relatively cool: "Good morning, Éomer. I've brought you some breakfast". She walked to the small wooden table in the corner, where the tray from the previous dinner stood untouched, food and water alike: "I'm afraid it's just some dried meat and cheese, but don't you worry. If the weather doesn't change, we will be in Pelargir by tomorrow and able to get some better food".

Éomer lied in his bed, his head turned towards the small opening in the hull from which light was filtering in: "I'm not hungry".

Lothíriel sighed and leaned with her hands on the table. Breath in, breath out. In. And out.

First, it had been fear.

The morning Éomer had finally regained consciousness, panic had almost overwhelmed him and, in turn, her. She had looked at Aragorn, hoping for those blessed words. It's just temporary. Don't worry, all will be good. But the moment they had looked into his eyes, they knew there was no such blessing for them.

The remedies Aragorn had given Éomer before her arrival to the camp had only managed to slow down the diffusion of the poison. Queen Arwen's antidote had stopped it, but hadn't managed to reverse its consequences. They had given him the last dose almost two weeks before, and there had been no change so far.

Though Aragorn himself could not be sure what poison had been used by Lord Arondir, he knew the type. He had explained that it was a paralysing substance: it would start from your legs, then your arms, and slowly eat its way towards your core, towards your heart, towards your lungs, leaving you gasping for air as if you were drowning in a merciless sea.

After fear, it had been hope.

Éomer would wake up every morning and his eyes would immediately focus on his toes, hoping to feel something, praying to see them moving again. And for each day that passed, for each morning his legs would lifelessly lay on the coat, despair would relentlessly erode hope.

He had answered the way it should have been expected: he had sought shelter elsewhere, behind thick walls, shutting out the rest of the world, digging himself in a place where none could reach him. Not even her.

It seemed like time had been turned back, it seemed as if she was yet again looking at the grumpy King, the one who would barely speak a word, the one who would keep the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, the one who lived in a kind of parallel, dreary universe, where it was just him and his troubles, his worries, his pains.

He would refuse food, answer with a grunt if she was lucky. And he would never look at her.

"Éomer, please: just a bite. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. You need to regain your strengths".

"For what?".

"How do you mean for what, for…".

"To ride Firefoot back to Edoras? Ah no, I will be travelling in a carriage. To walk you to a banquet? Ah, pity there are all those stairs to get to your father's palace, least I might have even made it…".

"Stop it!", her cry pierced the muffled air of the cabin. Tears started to run across her cheeks as she closed the distance between them and took him by his shoulders: "We haven't come this far to give up. I haven't! We will manage, we will find a way to sort things out. So don't you dare giving up! I won't let you, you hear me?", she yelled at him, trying to shake him from that apathetic state.

For the first time in many days, Éomer's dark eyes met hers. There was fear. Despair. Pain. Rage. Love. So many emotions seemed to blur in them that she felt breathless, unable and unwilling to look anywhere else.

His warm hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down until she was lying next to him, his lips met hers in a tender and yet desperate kiss. Resting her head on his shoulder, she circled his chest with her arm, holding on him with all the strength she had.

When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm: "I won't ever walk again, Lothíriel".

"Don't…".

"Sssh", he silenced her as he cradled her in his arms and kissed the top of her head: "It's been too long, Lothíriel. If something had to change, it would already have. We all know it. I know it. You know it. Aragorn knows it". He paused for a moment before echoing those words again, as if they were a dark spell: "I won't ever walk again".

No matter how much she would have liked to yell him that no, he was wrong, that there was still hope, there were still things they could try, deep inside her she knew he was right. For each day that passed, his chances at making a full recovery would shrink, paving the road in front of them with unforeseen challenges.

But to her, it did not matter. It never had: "Then we will find a way to make it work. I don't care if you won't be able to walk anymore, Éomer. I will always be by your side, I will always love you".

He did not answer her at first but when he finally did, she couldn't help but thinking that there was more to his words than it seemed: "I know, Lothíriel".

* * *

Days quickly passed. All equally uneventful and yet uniquely agonising.

After their conversation on the ship, for days Éomer had refused to speak a word. She had spent most of the time by his side, sometimes trying to entertain him with old sailor's stories, sometimes just trying to share a companionable silence. But there was nothing companionable in it. Quite the opposite, in fact. There had been days when his eyes had never left her, boring into her in a way that had almost started to make her feel uncomfortable.

Spending time with him had always been so easy, had always come so natural. Back in Edoras, they had spent so many nights together in his study, each focused on his own tasks. Sometimes the cracking of the fire had been the only sound filling the air, other times it had been their laughter, their voices. Everything had always felt so right. But now, those long, silent hours weighted on her. Scared her even, for something told her that behind that stern facade, there was much more going on in Éomer's mind.

And she did not know what it was, did not know how to help him, did not know how to reach him.

She had tried to stay positive, tried to focus on those small things which seemed to indicate Éomer was not doing so bad. And indeed, there was one, one which should not have surprised her.

Ever since the armies that had marched South had returned to Minas Tirith, preparations for the Rohirrim to ride back home had been in full swing. And no matter the hurdles he was personally facing, Éomer had not shrunk from his responsibilities as a King. Over the past weeks, he had spent his days in Council with Aragorn, Elfhelm and her father. Agreements had been signed. Decisions had been taken. From what she had gathered from her father, he was as focused as ever on ensuring Rohan's welfare.

There had been days when his commitment to his land, the seemingly infinite strength he seemed to possess when it came to his people's prosperity, almost made her feel like bursting into tears. Others, when she was left with a burning rage, with the wish of grabbing the first thing at hand's reach and smashing it against a wall. For he deserved more. After all his losses, after a life spent on his horse, sword in hand, fighting his way through war and evil, he deserved more. And she knew, she knew it was something that could be told of everybody who had been living through those days. Didn't her cousin Boromir deserved more? Didn't Wídfara deserve more? Just, this time, she did not seem to be able to cope with the injustice of it.

And she knew why: it felt as if for every day that passed, Éomer and that bright future together that they had dared to foolishly dream about, was slipping through her fingers.

She was losing him.

The moment she had realized it, she had felt as if somebody had punched the air out of her lungs. She would have liked to run to him, to throw her arms around his neck, to smell his familiar scent, to be comforted by his deep voice. But even that, she was being denied.

Éomer was clearly trying to avoid her: no matter how early she woke up, she would always find a guard by his door, telling her that the King was making himself ready and therefore she could not be granted access. And the evenings, he would either spend with Éothain and Elfhelm or she would find him already asleep.

In one of the few occasions she had managed to spend a few minutes with him, she had dared asking him. But his eyes had not even raised from the bowl of soup he was eating: I am busy, that's all.

In three days the Rohirrim would start riding back home and she didn't even know what she would do. She had asked her father, hoping he would allow her to go to Edoras and stay by Éomer's side. And indeed, he had agreed. At the condition that Éomer was fine with the idea. Just: she didn't know how nor when to ask him. And maybe, she was even afraid of doing it.

She felt as if she was wandering through those days like a lost spectre: sleep evaded her at night and she did not seem to be able to concentrate on anything at day. Sometimes she would realise she had just spoken with somebody, but could not for the sake of her remember about what. Other times, she would head out towards some place, completely loose the sense of time and space, and suddenly realise she was somewhere else. Just the day before, she had wanted to visit her cousin Faramir but had ended up at the gates of the city instead. How had she got there, she did not know.

Lothíriel greeted the man in front of her: at least that morning, she had managed not to get lost.

"Good morning, Princess Lothíriel. Lady Irviniel and Lady Lamhel are waiting for you in the study".

She thanked the guard and walked down the aisle. There was a great bustle of activities: knights marching up and down, exchanging orders in quick, rushed words, servants carrying chests and bags. One of them fell and rolled down a few steps, revealing a whole set of exquisite Gondorian silks.

Seems like Lady Lamhel is moving for good.

"Ah Lothíriel, here you are! Good, we are almost ready to depart. If you will excuse me for one moment, I need to speak to my handmaid". Without even giving her the time to answer, her aunt quickly left the room, her hurried steps echoing in the silent room.

Lady Lamhel was sitting by the window, sipping a cup of tea.

After their conversation in the camp in Harad, for days the girl had been elusive and silent. Finally, during their second day of sailing, she had approached her, almost timidly asking whether she could really go staying with her aunt. And so, as soon as they had arrived in Pelargir, she had sent her a courier. True to her reputation, her aunt had only taken a few short days to show up in Minas Tirith, storming Lady Lamhel away in a bustle of preparations. Pack your stuff, girl. Decide whether you want one of your maids to come with us in Lebennin. Leave orders to the servants who will be staying in Minas Tirith. Valar, I hope you don't want to dress the babe in one of those silly clothes!

At first, Lady Lamhel had seemed confused by somebody treating her so. Maybe she had expected her aunt to pity her, to treat her with kid gloves.

She clearly didn't know her.

"Good morning, Lady Lamhel".

"Princess", she acknowledged her.

Her tan was quickly fading away, revealing a multitude of freckles on what used to be a flawless, porcelain skin. She had gained some weight, her bruises had healed, the circles around her eyes were gone. She was far from being the Lady Lamhel she remembered, and probably she would always be. But at least, she did not resemble a ghost anymore.

"Is everything ready?".

"Yes. All my stuff have been packed and I think I have left clear indications to the servants who will be left in charge of my fath…of my palace in the city. I hope so, at least".

"I'm sure all will be fine. I will ask my father to keep an eye that everything is in order, don't worry".

"You will leave for Rohan?".

Lothíriel sat on the empty chair in front of Lady Lamhel and pensively looked outside: "I don't know. I'd like to, but I have yet to ask Éomer".

"For what matters, I do really hope that he will recover. I thought about speaking to him but…but I don't know whether he'd like to see me. Nor if I would have managed to say anything at all…".

"Don't worry about that. He has been incredibly busy these days. Why: I barely managed to see him!", it was meant as a joke but her voice almost cracked and she struggled to keep herself in check.

Right on clue, aunt Irviniel stormed back in the room: "Now, now. What's this gloomy atmosphere?! One can't leave you alone for one moment!". She unceremoniously pulled her up from the chair and cupped her face, looking closely at her while her thumbs dried away the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes: "Are you sure you don't want me to stay a while longer in Minas Tirith?".

Lothíriel shook her head and tried an unconvincing smile: "No, don't worry. I will be fine. I anyway hope to leave in a few days".

"You hope? Don't tell me that pig-headed of a brother of mine is refusing to let you go to Rohan?".

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lady Lamhel trying to suppress a grin at hearing somebody referring to the Prince of Dol Amroth in such way: "No, no. Father said it's fine!", she hurried to say, least her aunt would march to his study and give him a piece of her mind, whether he wanted it or not. "I just haven't had a chance to ask Éomer yet, that's all".

Their discussion got abruptly interrupted by a resolute knock on the door: "Irviniel it's me, Imrahil".

This time, Lady Lamhel seemed horrified: "Oh, dear! You think he heard us?".

Her aunt looked at her with an almost offended expression: "I shall hope so! Come in, Imrahil".

"Ladies", her father greeted them as he entered the room.

For as long as she could remember, she had never seen her father with a beard. He had always been so clean shaved that, at some point, she must have completely forgotten that he could grow one. But ever since coming back from Harad, he had some-why stopped shaving. Though cleanly groomed, a thick beard now covered his cheeks and, for the first time, she had suddenly realized her father was getting old.

His beard was equally black and silver, deep lines marked his face and, over the past weeks, he had seemed to be willing to step down from running Dol Amroth: more often than not he would delegate to her brothers all those duties which had always been in his care, limiting himself to attending Council with King Elessar.

She wasn't sure when had it happened, when had her father grown old. But what she did know, was that they had never been so close as they were on those days.

She greeted him with a kiss on his cheek: "Good morning, father. We both have a good timing: aunt Irviniel and Lady Lamhel are just about to leave. Maybe we can escort them until the gates?".

"We can. But first, I bring tidings", he walked around her and came standing in front of Lady Lamhel, who was looking baffled at him, "tidings of your father".

Lady Lamhel's hands started visibly to shake and her father was quick to take her cup before she could spill its content on her gown: "Apparently, Harad is very keen on keeping the peace treaty we have signed. They managed to track down your father and, as a sign of good will, they have promptly delivered him to us. As we speak, he's being led to the dungeons".

Lady Lamhel stared at her hands for a while. She clasped them together, trying in vain to prevent them from trembling. When she spoke, her voice was but a whisper: "I want to see him".

"That's not necessary…".

She snapped up from her chair, her voice growing louder: "I want to see him!".

Her father looked at his sister, clearly unsure on what to do: "Well, you heard the girl: she wants to see him! She has every right to confront him after all he has done to her, Imrahil".

"Very well, I shall escort you there. Just remember, Lady Lamhel: he can't hurt you anymore. You need not be afraid".

She nodded at him before turning towards her aunt: "Will you come with me?", she almost pleaded her.

"Of course, my dear! Seeing that swine rotting in a cell will definitely boost my day! Let's go, so that then we can finally leave this stinking city behind us. Will you come with us, Lothíriel?".

* * *

Lothíriel heavily fell on her bed, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the ceiling.

Exhausted. That's how she felt. Physically. And psychologically.

She had spent so many nights thinking of Lord Arondir, feeding on her hate for the man. Because of him, Andes was death. Because of him, Gamling was death. Because of him, many good men of Gondor and Rohan had perished in that nonsensical southern campaign. Because of him, Éomer lied in a bed. Because of him, their bright future together had been shuttered. Because of him, tomorrow had never looked more uncertain, had never scared her more.

There had been nights, when the extent of the hatred she felt for the man had almost taken her breath away. Had he been in front of her then, she didn't know what she would have done. Maybe put into practice Elphir's lessons on knives once more.

But now that confronting him was finally possible, she simply could not bring herself to it.

She did not have the strength.

Lord Arondir had lost. His plan had failed, he was disgraced and set to spend the rest of is life behind bars, while the world he had tried to destroy would thrive around him. But had she met him, had she gone to the dungeons with Lady Lamhel and her aunt, she was afraid of what he would have seen in her eyes. He might have failed in his attempts of assassinating her and Éomer, but he had achieved something that, for each day that passed, looked like even worse.

It was a terrible thing to think, she knew. But the way Éomer had been clearly avoiding her, cutting her out from his life despite all her stubborn attempts to stay by his side, despite how hard she had tried to explain him that she did not care if he would never walk again, was becoming a heavy toll.

She knew it was a foolish, selfish thought. But at that stage, she felt like they too, had lost.

They were not dead, but yet not alive. Or at least, she did not feel like she was. Every morning, she would drag herself out of bed, pull a polite face at being denied entrance to Éomer's rooms, spend the long hours until the evening mulling and brooding over their situation, then pull another polite face when she would be told that Éomer could not receive her as he was busy with his Councillors. She would then go to bed, spend the night tossing in her bed, unable to catch some decent sleep, and the next morning everything would start over.

She knew. She knew that if it was hard for her, then for Éomer it must have been a thousand times harder. And so she pressed on, she refused giving up. In her heart, she hoped that going back to Edoras would somehow help him, that in the familiar rooms of Meduseld, he would find a way accept the way things were, he would see that they could still be happy together. He could still be happy…

As the door of her room suddenly banged open, Lothíriel snapped up from the bed. Holdwyn barged in, panting heavily, her cheeks red, sweat trickling down her forehead, as if she had been running hard and long: "Gone!", was all she managed to say between one pant and the other. She took a deeper breath, leaning with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

"Gone? Who's gone? Holdwyn, are you ok? What happened? Is it about Walda?".

A nod of her head.

"Walda's gone? Where to?".

"All. Gone!", she tried to explain, waving one hand in the air.

All?

She tried to help her sitting down but she refused, straightening up instead and taking her by the shoulders. She breathed deeply and this time, she was able to speak more than a word or two: "They are all gone, Lothíriel. They left the city at dawn: Éomer. Walda. Éothain. Elfhelm. Herubrand. And a group of other riders".

What?! "What? Where are they going? Are they out of their mind? Why were we not informed?!".

"They are going home, Lothíriel. They are riding back to Rohan".

She turned towards the window: there they were. She could see it: the Rohirrim's camp, just outside the walls of the city, stretching along the Pelennor Fields. She could distinguish the shapes of men and horses moving around, just like any other day. Frowning, she turned back towards Holdwyn: "But they are all still here…".

"The rest of the men will ride in three days, just as planned. But they already left, Lothíriel!".

"But why? Why would they leave without saying a word? Why would Walda…", she froze, as the implications of that unexpected turn of events sunk in: Walda. Walda was her guard and, in their original plan, he would have stayed with her in Gondor until the wedding. And Éothain, Elfhelm, Herubrand. All people she considered friends. People who might have tried to warn her about Éomer's early departure.

He's not leaving Gondor: he's leaving me.

He was!

She felt as if the earth had started to shake under her feet, as if she was drowning into dark waters, the strength to fight back betraying her.

How can he leave me?

The vase of white orchids exploded in hundreds of small fragments as it collided with the wall. Water dripped down, soaking the letter she had been writing to Elphir, its ink staining irremediably the white petals.

How can he give up on us?

The book she had taken that morning from the library bumped against her closet before falling to the ground, its preciously preserved pages folding and shrivelling.

How can he leave without even telling me?

The chair heavily fell on its side, dragging her nightgown with it.

"Lothíriel, stop!", Holdwyn cried, as she tried to grab her arms before she could vent her rage on the next thing at hand's grasp.

She didn't know when she had started to cry, but she realized her cheeks were wet, her breath coming in gasps.

Was that it? Was that how it was gonna end between them? He didn't even consider her worth enough to tell her goodbye, to look at her in the eyes as he slipped out of her life? If he really loved her, how could he be such a coward?! She had told him: she had told him that she did not care. That she loved him anyway. She was ready to face everything just for him, and instead he just left her without a word?

She felt her stomach turn, her head spinning. She stumbled back as sobs quickly overtook her, her clenched fists covering her face.

No! That was not how it was gonna end!

She breathed deeply. Once, twice, trying to clear her mind, trying to think as straight as she could: "Holdwyn: get my riding outfit out and make yourself ready", she ordered her as she slowly stood up and already started undressing.

"We ride?".

"We ride".

Holdwyn nodded, rushed to her wardrobe and quickly found what she was looking for. When she made for helping her, she stopped her: "Just go and get ready. I'll meet you at the stables".

"Do we take guards?".

"No".

She gave her another nod and swiftly strode towards the door. She made for opening but, at the last moment, thought better of it and turned back towards her: "We can catch them before dark, don't worry. They won't be moving fast and they were counting on the fact that we wouldn't have found out about their departure until the late afternoon".

She frowned: "How do you know that?".

"Me and Walda were supposed to meet before sunset. But since I didn't have much to do, I went to the camp to see if he could snuggle away earlier. I think Éomer King doesn't expect us to have already realized that they have left".

The fact that he had planned it so thoroughly felt like a stab, but she tried not to think about it: "What did they tell you at the camp?".

"Not much. I believe Éomer King ordered them to keep their mouth shut. But he left Ceorl behind and…well, though he did not speak plainly, he ensured I knew what was going on…".

As Holdwyn left the room, Lothíriel got rid of her gown and slipped inside her riding outfit: even though it had been thoroughly cleaned, every time she looked at it she could yet again see the desert in front of her eyes, the dust covering every inch of her, the sun scorching on her head as she rode towards the camp. She could still feel the angst, the fear…

She shook her head: she had to stay focused.

Finally dressed up, she hurried towards the stables and, even before seeing her, she could hear Holdwyn loudly discussing with one of the stable hands: "What's happening here? We need our horses to be saddled. Now!".

"Princess, as I was trying to explain to your maid, that's not possible…".

Exasperated, Lothíriel raised her voice and retorted to her most authoritarian tone: "I am not kindly asking you to do it: I'm ordering you to saddle our horses! Rest assured there will be consequences if…".

The stable hand's eyes widened and he started to stammer: "M-My Lady you d-don't understand! I'm not r-refusing! It's j-just that your h-horses are…".

"Our horses are what?!", she yelled to his face, quickly losing her patience.

The boy stumbled back and seemed to shrink in front of her eyes, as if he had just seen a fire-spitting dragon flying his way: "G-Gone, my Lady".

Gone? She pushed him aside and strode inside the stables. She stopped in front of the boxes where Sparkler and Holdwyn's mare were normally kept: empty. No horses, no saddles. Nothing.

"Where are they?".

"M-My Lady a group of R-Rohirrim came e-earlier today a-and…".

She did not need to hear anything more. Éomer had ridden away without telling her, had ensured she would not find out about it until it was too late, and he had taken with him the betrothal gift he had given her: Sparkler.

In his reluctance at speaking to her, he had made himself absolutely clear.

Torn between despair and anger, she tried to focus on the latter: if she broke down now, she knew she would not be able to ride and confront him. And she had to, needed to do it.

The stable boy was still blabbering something, so she cut him short: "Saddle Amrothos' spare mounts".

His mouth opened and then closed, he looked around, surely praying for somebody to show up and save him. Right then, he most probably wished to be anywhere else in Middle Earth but there: even Mordor would do.

"But Princess, I d-don't…".

"Enough!". He visibly paled and threw a pleading look towards Holdwyn: "Do not make me repeat myself: saddle the horses!".

Though with some hesitation, he finally nervously nodded and rushed inside the building.

"I think we should go helping him, Lothíriel. The boy is so nervous I would be surprised if he manages to saddle even one horse…".

* * *

A person's mind can do weird things, has a way on its own to protect itself.

The events of that day would torment her for a long time in the months to come. And yet, she could not remember them.

She could remember saddling her brother's horse. She could remember riding on the Pelennor Fields. She could remember seeing in distance a group of riders following them. She could remember spotting the Rohirrim's group ahead of them and urging her horse forward. But from then on, only sparse, confused flashes were left in her mind.

One was of Éothain trying to stop her.

The other was Éomer's surprised face when she stepped inside the carriage.

And then: his eyes. She could not remember anything else but his eyes, piercing into her, burning with rage. His words would echoed in her mind for a long time. Them also, somehow, in flashes.

I don't want to ever see you again, his raging eyes told her in one flash.

It's all your fault, they said in another.

I hate you.

From then on, everything became even more confused. Whatever was told after that, she could not remember. Her memories were silent: Éomer yelling something at her, the door of the carriage getting opened, Erchirion dragging her out, Amrothos being tackled by Herubrand before he could get into the carriage himself.

And then, all went blank.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** terribly sorry for the delay. This chapter just wouldn't come out, I started and re-started it a dozen times and I'm still not convinced about it. On the top of that, my computer broke down last week and I was forced to review everything on my iPad, which is not the most practical thing. Anyway, here we are. For a chapter or two I'll stick to Lothíriel POV, as I think it will benefit the plot. Hopefully next chapters will come a bit easier! As usual: let me know what you think about this latest turn of events! ;)

 _MissCallaLilly_ : I'm afraid the heart-breaking is not nearly over!

 _Menelwen_ : well, we'll see about that! I wasn't sure whether to include or not the scene with Lady Lamhel, so I'm glad you liked it.

 _Doria Nell_ : thank you for your review! Me myself, I have been reading fanfic for a long time and rarely left reviews. Only started to do it recently, because I can now see how important they are. So: don't feel guilty! I'm really happy to hear you like this story and, particularly, this Lothíriel. She might not be perfect but I think the definition "free spirit" pretty much summarise how I had portrayed her in my mind. :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

 _Dol Amroth, October the 1_ _st_ _, 3020_

Holdwyn cautiously pushed open the door and sneaked her head inside: a couple of maids were busy chopping vegetables while a few young boys were piling small barrels of wine against the wall. She silently stepped inside and walked around, looking for Colhel's familiar features, but the only face she could recognize was the one of the girl at the table, pretending to be too busy chopping pickles to have noticed her.

Long dark brown hair, doe's eyes, a corner of her mouth constantly lifted, like she was mocking the whole world: Saerdir.

If she had to name one positive thing about Walda being back in Edoras and awfully far from her, was that at least he was far from the little viper as well. Not that she didn't trust him, but the woman's subtle approaches and veiled advances had been more than enough to earn her a place in the category _tramps I'd rather see at the furthest distance from my future husband_.

She had no mood to speak to her, but it did not seem like she had many other choices.

Luckily for her however, Prince Imrahil unexpected entrance into the kitchen saved her the trouble: "Good morning, Holdwyn".

"My Lord".

The three of them eyed each other. Saerdir probably wondering what was the Prince doing in the kitchen. The Prince presumably trying to estimate the odds that the two of them would jump at each other's throat, given their rather notorious reciprocal disdain. Herself, wondering if it was inappropriate to inquire the Prince about his cook's whereabouts.

 _Ah, well._

"My Lord, I was wondering if you have seen Colhel around?".

He arched an eyebrow: "I believe she is on her way to the market. Why, is something amiss?".

 _Damn, I'm too late!_

Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head: "No. It's just…I wanted to ask her if she could cook something special for today's dinner…".

"Meaning?".

"Well, I remember Lothíriel once told me about this kind of fish. She spoke a whole afternoon about it, saying it was her favourite food and the one she would miss the most in Rohan. So, since this is our last evening here in Dol Amroth, I was wondering if maybe Colhel could cook it for her. Who knows", she said, sighing deeply, "might even lift her spirit, even if just for a while".

 _Might even bring back our old Lothíriel_ , she thought for herself. Yes, for it had been almost three weeks since they had arrived in Dol Amroth and, at the moment, she couldn't even recall the last time she had spoken with her. With Lothíriel, the real Lothíriel.

One could not say things had gone smooth in Harad, and yet she had not given up then. But ever since their fateful ride on the Pelennor Fields, the girl she had come to know as simply Lothíriel , had vanished into thin air. Of that formidable young woman whom she had been eagerly awaiting to call my Queen, that little tornado who had taken Meduseld by storm, conquering their hearts one after the other with her enthusiasm, her intelligence, her sensitiveness, her fighting spirit, there was nothing left.

A scrawny shell, that's what she resembled more and more, for each day that passed.

The Prince gently squeezed her shoulder and offered her his arm: "Come, Holdwyn. Walk with me".

Their footsteps echoed in the sunny portico, the soothing sound of the fountain filled the air, disturbed here and there by the calls of the seagulls flying over the palace.

Dol Amroth was easily the most beautiful city she had ever seen. Edoras would always held her heart, sure. And Minas Tirith was impressive, of course. But Dol Amroth had something special about it.

It wasn't nearly as messy as the capital of Gondor, and yet its shores were lively and vibrant, colourful and perky. And the sea…the first time she had set foot on a boat, she had thought there could not possibly be anything more awful than that. How wrong she was. Seen at due distance, that vast expanse of water had something almost magical, mystical. One day it could be calm and quiet, the sound of its waves breaking along the shores filling her with a sense of peace and melancholy at the same time. The next it could be angry and tumultuous, reminding them how little and insignificant they were when confronted with his majestic strength.

"So, what's the fish you had in mind?".

"I'm not sure it's a fish, actually. As far as I understood, it's more like a crab…a big crab?".

"Ah, yes. Lothíriel has always loved lobster. Children rarely like it, but she has always been fond of it, for as long as I can remember. And stubborn as she is, she has always pretended to open it on her own, or at least to try. I've lost count of how many gowns she has ruined in the process...". The Prince stopped, a smile on his face as he dived into old memories: "I remember once, she found a lobster's tail among the leftovers of the previous dinner. She stole it and started running around the palace with this tail in her hand, stealing a bite here and there before Elphir could catch her".

"She must have been a handful…".

"A handful?! Ah, you have no idea, Holdwyn. Between her and Amrothos, there is more than enough to explain all these white hair!".

She laughed softly as they walked for a while longer, until they eventually circled the portico and got back to where they had started their stroll. The Prince stirred her towards the garden and, soon enough, the warm rays of the autumnal sun were shining over them. Compared to her first visit to Dol Amroth, back in spring, there were way less flowers painting the sides of the cobbles' paths. But the garden was just as beautiful, if not more.

"I'm glad you've decided to stay with her until next spring".

"It's nothing, my Lord…".

"Don't diminish what you are doing for her, Holdwyn. I know you two became very close and the knowledge that you will be at her side over the next months, is more than a little comfort".

"I could not leave her, my Lord. Not after…". _Not after my King completely lost his mind._

The Prince pensively raised his head towards the blue sky above them: "Do you think it's a good idea, to let her go to my sister?".

"I…I hope so, my Lord. Maybe the change will do her good".

"Maybe".

They continued in silence until they reached the terrace at the far end of the garden. As usual on the morning, a soft breeze blew from the awakening city and towards the sea. A few ships were sailing away and the market looked already busy and loud.

"My Lord?".

"Yes, Holdwyn".

"Will there be consequences? For Rohan, I mean…".

"No, my Rohirrim girl: you had luck. Were Amrothos to be in charge of Dol Amroth, he would already be sieging Edoras and asking for your King's head. But Elphir is way too diplomatic for that and Aragorn…well, he considers him like a brother, despite everything".

"And what of you, my Lord?".

"As a Prince, I respect him and recognize him his merits. As a father, I'd rather not see him, ever again".

She could not blame him, really. Herself, she felt so torn.

On the one side, Éomer King: the man who had spent his life fighting for Rohan, who had inherited the throne after seeing their previous King, a man whom he considered like a father, perishing on the stage of one of the biggest and cruellest battles of their time. The man who had guided them through harsh times and towards a new renaissance.

And on the other, a man who had proved unable to cope with what had happened in that cursed Southern war. Who had selfishly thrown all the faults on the one person who had been trying for the longest time to warn them all, on the one person he owed his life to. Shuttering her feelings, destroying her confidence, making a shadow out of the woman he had professed to love for the rest of his days.

Rohirrim would always love him. For he was, indeed, a great King. But herself, she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to forgive him, if she would ever be able to look at him without seeing Lothíriel's blank eyes as Erchirion dragged her out of the King's carriage.

She deserved more. Lothíriel deserved more but, at that point, she wasn't sure whether she would ever wish to have more, to be more.

"Holdwyn?".

"Yes, my Lord".

"I will send somebody after Colhel, so that she may buy what she needs. And I'd like you to join us for dinner, later today. Who knows, you might even come to like the big crab".

* * *

Lothíriel sighed and rested her head back on the door as it finally closed, the silence and darkness of the room enveloping her.

How she wished they would let go. Sometimes, she felt like one more word or recommendation, and she would fall into hysteria.

Holdwyn's persistence that she should eat more. Lamhel's proposal to visit a seamstress to have her gowns refitted. Her aunt's insistence to have her doing _stuff_ , whatever that was. The healer's reluctance at replenishing her sleeping potion's stash.

Why didn't they just let her be?

The shoulder strap of her gown slipped down for what felt like the thousandth time that day, almost as if willing to remark the legitimacy of Holdwyn and Lamhel's advises. Frustrated, she frantically unfastened the laces of her dress and let it fall on the ground, hurrying to the bed without even caring about wearing her nightgown. She chugged down the content of the cup on her nightstand and sunk into the bed, pulling the blanket all the way up to her chin as shivers already shook her body. She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, and forced her eyes closed: the best part of the day was always preceded by the worse.

All her life, she had never drunk sleeping potions. The only exception had been that cold night in Edoras when, in the attempt of taking her life, a whole trail of blood had been left behind her. And yet, she had failed to understand, to intuit that she was getting into something way bigger than her, something she should have never got involved with in the first place.

She snuggled deeper under the blanket, her teeth chattering: how could she feel so tired, so exhausted, to the point of being barely able to walk and keep her eyes open, and yet so bloody awake once in bed, she would never understand. She covered her ears with her hands and squeezed tighter her eyes: in those long, endless minutes until the potion would finally start to kick in, her head was a tumultuous whirlwind of thoughts and memories, of sounds and regrets.

 _You are addicted to that concoction_ , her aunt had thundered only a few days earlier.

And right she was: just, what she could not understand, was that right then that concoction was the only thing that kept her going, the only thing that could grant her a few hours of break from her misery and her guilt. She had tried to stop taking it, but all she had achieved was to spend hours tossing in her bed and, when she had eventually fallen asleep, nightmares had gripped her mind to the point of startling her awake, screaming and crying.

She could not even start to imagine what her aunt would say, were she to discover that she had smuggled more than a bit of the herb from Dol Amroth, so that she could strengthen the healer's brew without anybody noticing.

And that wasn't nearly all. Just a few days earlier, everybody had seemed beyond relief when she had declared that she wanted to go for a walk to the nearby market. They hadn't even insisted too hard on going with her, choosing instead to be content that she would have taken a couple of guards with her. She could feel them: the hopeful glances her aunt, Holdwyn and Lamhel had thrown at each other. In reality, she simply desperately needed to get more of the blessed brew, because ever since she had started to sip it at day as well, her stocks had started to diminish at an alarming pace. It had taken her some thought to find a way to ensure that the guards wouldn't see nor report anything suspicious to her aunt, but when it came to that, her motivation was unparalleled.

The only thing she was struggling more and more with, was to keep herself from drinking too much of it: were she to spend entire days in bed, it would only be a matter of time before somebody would realize what was going on. The key was to drink enough to dull her senses and her perception of reality, enough to blur her mind, without impairing her ability to keep awake and pretend to be somewhat lucid.

But, for each day that passed, it felt harder and harder. For each day that passed, she needed to drink more of it in order to get the same result.

 _I was here, but I wasn't at the same time. I wasn't able to envisage that I would ever be feeling cheerful again, nor I was expecting to be._

She could see it: Edoras' library, a lively fire burning in the hearth, Éomer standing a few feet from her, battling his own demons and trying to explain her how he felt. She could still taste his lips, feel his strong arms lifting her off the ground…

Suddenly gasping for air, she snapped up and kneeled next to the bed, squeezing her hand under the mattress. She probed with her fingers but all she could feel was a soft, fluffy texture.

 _No, no, no!_

She slipped another hand in, stretching her arms in front of her and spanning them around, already starting to panic, to sob uncontrollably. Relief flooded through her veins as she finally caught touch of the familiar rugged cotton, pulled it out and open on the cold floor. The simple idea of preparing an infusion seemed utterly unbearable in that moment. Instead, she stuffed her mouth with a few of the dried leaves and, trying to ignore their bitter taste, chewed them at length before eventually swallowing them with some water.

Coming morning, she would regret it. She already knew, she knew that eating the herb was dangerous, that she would be left for a whole day with a terrible stomach ache, that she would have to find an excuse to explain it to her aunt. But, right then, it could not be helped. Chewing on the leaves might have been a risk, a disgusting risk, but that way their effect would come sooner, the numbness would take her away easier.

She carefully folded the remaining herbs back into their package and put it back under the mattress, mindful that it was far enough from the edge that the maids wouldn't notice it when making her bed. Her eyelids were getting heavier, thinking was already starting to get difficult, but there was one last foresight she needed to have in order to prevent her aunt and Holdwyn to suspect anything: she probed her teeth with her tongue to ensure there weren't leaves' pieces stuck into them and checked carefully that no trace was left on the ground. Once satisfied, she barely had the energy to climb back on the bed before the world around her and, most of all, inside her, started to disappear.

* * *

Two weeks. It had been only two weeks since a small group of Swan Knights had escorted Lothíriel 's carriage into the courtyard of her Lebennin's residence. And from the very first moment, there had been no doubt the severity of the situation.

Her trustful maid had helped her out, almost upholding her as they climbed the few stairs leading up to the Hall. She had barely mumbled her a greeting before excusing herself, saying that the trip had tired her and that she wanted to retire earlier.

It had been barely noon.

She had stared at her back, as she slowly disappeared down the corridor, Holdwyn diligently following her. Imrahil had written her, had told her what was going on, had tried to prepare her. But how could have she possibly be prepared for that?

Her nephew, her precious, beloved nephew.

She loved Elhpir, and Erchirion, and Amrothos, and Boromir, and Faramir. But Lothíriel. Lothíriel had always been special. She had been there the day she had come into this world and the moment those perky, lively eyes had opened and looked up at her, she knew she would have loved her like no other.

She had always been there for her: for her first trembling steps on the beach of Dol Amroth, to hold her and sooth her after the death of her mother, to stem her brother's attempts at curbing her sparkling personality and making a perfect Gondorian princess out of her. For she was so much more than that. So much, that she knew she would always feel out of place in the strict society they were living in, for people were not ready for somebody like her, a young woman with an important name, who wanted to play her own game and autonomously decide the road she wished to walk on, without letting stereotypes and prejudices influencing her.

That was why, when Lothíriel had written her that she was to marry the King of Rohan, she had been happy for her.

She remembered him from the celebrations in Minas Tirith: a fine young man and a fish out of water. She had spent a whole evening observing him as he turned down one father -and daughter, of course- after the other, his expression varying from deep furrow to extreme surprise, depending what he was confronted with. He had stirred her curiosity, this young King. And so, on the next occasion, she had approached him.

For all the rumours about their barbarian northern allies, she had been pleasantly surprised to find a mannerly, courtly man. One who did not indulge in smiles and who enjoyed plain speaking way too much to ever feel at ease in the jungle of the Gondorian nobility.

She had never given too much thought about which type of man could have suited Lothíriel, but after receiving the announcement of their betrothal she had found herself agreeing that he was most probably a fine match. Valorous and brave like her father and brothers. King of a land with far less restrictions than Gondor when it came to women. Smart and with a quick wit, just like her. And if at times he was a bit too serious, Lothíriel's sunny personality would easily compensate.

Ashes. Ashes was all that was left of that dream.

Sometimes, she couldn't help but thinking that it would have been better if he had never awoken, if he had died in that tent in Harad. Lothíriel would have mourned him, grieved for him, but she would have eventually moved on with her life. The memory of the man he was, of the love they had shared, the awareness that he would have wanted her to be happy, would have comforted her.

But this. This was way worse.

Lothíriel had never spoken about what he had told her. In fact, she had barely spoken at all. But Holdwyn had reluctantly given her a rather detailed account of what had happened that day. Not even once had her eyes risen from the ground as she recounted of his madness, of his foolish accusations, as if the shame of her King was her shame too.

For a man like him, finding himself suddenly unable to even stand up from the bed must have been a heavy blow. But nothing could justify his reaction, nothing could justify his words, nothing could explain his anger towards Lothíriel. She wasn't the hand behind his poisoning, she had risked her life just to give him a chance at surviving, she had been ready to give up her life as a Princess to follow him to Rohan, to be his wife regardless of his condition. Instead, he had chosen to push her aside, not even considering her worth enough to give her an explanation. Valar knows for how long the bloody coward had been feeding on his resentment, blaming her for having entered his life, for having started Lord Arondir's deranged retaliation. As if it was her fault, as if he didn't know how hard she had been on herself already after the death of Gamling and Andes.

Lothíriel had written her many letters during her stay in Edoras, expressing the guilt she felt for everything that had come to pass, the fear that she might have acted out of her place and caused all those deaths. She had been insecure, fragile. She had doubted her own actions, her own skills. But a fighter she had always been, and fought she did.

But now, that insecurity, that fragility, seemed to have won, her spirit crushed under the weight of Éomer's words.

She had tried, she had tried it all. Over the past two weeks, herself, Holdwyn and Lamhel had put on a collective effort at trying to bring her back. But nothing had worked, nothing had even got a response out of her. And for each day that passed, the concerns for her mental well-being were inexorably being surpassed by those for her physical health. No matter the delicacies she would ask her cook to prepare, Lothíriel would rarely eat more than a bite, indulging all too often in generous goblets of red wine. And while the healer had assured her that the amount of sleeping potion he was giving her was not enough to cause any side-effect, the fact that she could not sleep without it worried her.

She leaned outside of the window: there she was, sitting on a chair in the garden, sipping tea from a small cup and pretending to be reading something. Holdwyn on one side, knitting what looked to be a tiny pair of slippers. Lamhel on the other, cradling her baby and humming him a lullaby. It could have looked like a lovely picture to somebody who didn't know what was going on, if it wasn't that Lothíriel's book was clearly upside down and, from what she could tell, at the same page since the last time she had checked on them, almost an hour earlier.

* * *

Lady Lamhel sighed contently as she walked down the corridor, feeling almost excited at the prospect of having a couple of hours for herself and, at the same time, slightly guilt for it.

She remembered that day in Harad, when she had first spoken with Lothíriel. She remembered telling her that she didn't want the child growing in her womb. And she meant it, really. How could have she known, how could have she even imagined how the world would have changed the moment she had held him to her chest for the first time, the moment his tiny, little hand had clutched around her thumb, the moment those big dark eyes had looked at her.

Life was not over. Life had just begun. And with it, of course, the hurdles of motherhood.

She had always given for granted that a noblewoman like her, would be helped by nurses. That was how it had always been in her home, and in the ones of her friends. But Galdir's birth had somehow allowed her to be reborn, to have a second chance in life. And she didn't want to miss anything, she wanted to be there for each and every little conquest he would achieve in his path to adulthood, to becoming a noble, righteous, young man.

Six weeks and a half later, she was still firmly convinced about her choice. Her body, not quite so.

Galdir's demanding schedule of night feeding was starting to make its mark, leaving her permanently strained and boneless tired. And with everything that was going on, it was no surprise Lady Irviniel hadn't noticed her fatigue, hadn't offered some help: indeed, they had more important matters at hand. That was why it had been with no small amount of surprise and, at the same time, relief, that she had welcomed Holdwyn's offer to look after Galdir for a few hours that afternoon.

To be honest, she felt like Holdwyn needed a break from her daily routine nearly much as her. In the four weeks since their arrival, the girl had been Lothíriel's shadow, trailing her everywhere, trying everything that came to her mind to lift her mood and bring a smile on her face.

But it was like trying to tear down the walls of a fortress with your bare hands: the people inside it won't even notice you are there.

That's how it was with Lothíriel.

She herself had tried to help her, to no avail. The only rare moments when she seemed, if not more at peace, at least less tormented, were those she spent with Galdir. Could she be sure that she would carefully look after him, she would have proposed her to babysit him for a few hours. But sometimes, when she looked at her, she wondered how lucid she really was: spending hours looking at an upside-down book or staring into a wall, hardly spoke in her favour. And yet, some why, Galdir seemed to like her: never once had he cried when she was around him, preferring instead to look at her, to follow her every move with his frisky eyes, eventually giving her a toothless smile whenever she would look back at him.

She had thought about it. Thoroughly. And for the sake of her, she just couldn't find the sense of it.

How could Éomer King blame her for his condition? Her father, her hideous, plotting, greedy father was the only one to be blamed. Lothíriel's attempted murder, the death of her maid and her friend. Her mother's death. The war with Harad. The poisoning of King Elessar's wine. His, was the hand behind it all. Why would he think her responsible? How could he hate her? How could he have ever even loved her, if his feelings had been so quick to dissolve?

Even more: how could she believe his accusations?

It scared her. Whenever she looked at Lothíriel, all she could think of, was that it could have been her. Hadn't it been for Galdir, for the light he had brought into her life, it could have been her. He had given her a reason to move on and to look once again at the future with hope and determination instead of helplessness. But who did Lothíriel have, who could prompt such change, who could revive her and bring her back to her family, to her friends?

Her mood tampered, the smile on her face gone, she strode across the Hall and headed towards her bedchamber. But just as she rounded the corner, something caught her eye. Something that wiped the idea of having a bath completely out of her mind.

The lilting sound of the booted steps of four guards resonated in the corridor as they headed towards the stairs. Two at the front, two at the back, almost in formation. And, in the middle, a hooded figure, whose boots she would recognize everywhere, for she had stared at them every morning in Harad, a silent, accusatory reminder of all that wrong in her life.

 _That can't be!_

She covered her mouth, trying to silence a gasp of surprise as she dodged behind a wall and out of sight. When somebody suddenly came up behind her, she nearly jumped out of her skin: "Ah, Lady Lamhel, here you are! Your bath is ready. Do you need some assistance at wash…oh my, Lady Lamhel are you feeling unwell? You look pale!".

 _You would also look pale, had you just seen a ghost!_

"No, no. I'm fine. I was just on my way to my room and no: I don't need any help. In fact", she said, trying to look as calm as possible, "I'd rather have nobody disturbing me while I bath".

The young maid frowned: "Are you sure, Lady Lamhel? You don't even want me to wash your hair?".

She needed to get rid of the girl, the sooner the better: "Yes, I'm sure. Actually, I'd like you to go to the solarium and see whether Holdwyn needs anything while she cares for Galdir".

"But…".

"Now, if you don't mind".

The girl didn't seem particularly convinced, but nodded her head nonetheless and headed down the corridor, turning towards her a couple of times, a confused look on her face.

She waited until she had disappeared from view and then she quickly sneaked behind one of the columns, trying to catch a glimpse of the group of guards and their guest. No luck, but following the sound of their march up the stairs was easy enough.

She walked up, mindful to be as silent as possible, and corner after corner she followed them, until the sound of a heavy door closing suggested her they had reached their destination: Lady Irviniel's study. And a quick glance to the two guards who stood outside of it, told her she had no chance to get any closer to that door

 _The library! I need to get into the library!_

She breathed deeply and smoothed the skirt of her gown, trying to calm down her nerves and look as normal as possible while she walked down the aisle and towards them. She wouldn't normally greet guards so she passed them without a word, but she only managed to do two steps before being stopped: "I'm sorry, my Lady, but we can't let you in the library. Orders of Lady Irviniel".

She put on her most innocent-looking expression: "Oh, I'm sorry. But I just have to retrieve a book, I shall be quick, don't worry. They won't even realize I was there from Lady Irviniel's study". She tried to pass the guard and enter the library, but the man was not easily fooled.

"I have to insist, Lady Lamhel. Nobody is to enter Lady Irviniel's study, nor the library".

She was already mentally cursing Lady Irviniel's diligent guard, when something came to her mind: _the balcony!_

She briskly apologized to the man and hurried back down the stairs and, from there, to the garden.

There it was!

Lady Irviniel's study was adjacent to the library and indeed a door connected the two rooms. Alike the study, which was only lightened by two high windows, the library had a beautiful balcony overlooking the garden. And just a few meters from it, a giant oak had grown over the decades, its branches lapping upon it.

She remembered that when she had first arrived there, she had wondered why had nobody got rid of the tree. It was definitely too close to the palace, its imposing shape completely shading more than one room. And all in all, it did not really seem to fit the garden.

But, as she had soon learned, Lady Irviniel loved that tree. Sometimes, she would spend hours sitting on the balcony, reading a book and entertaining herself with the diverse, colourful fauna inhabiting its strong branches. The lowest one was just as high as her chin, and conveniently sided by a bench: she had no intention of breaking her neck but really, even a blindfolded kid could climb that tree. Which meant the odds that she would also manage were somewhat higher, even though she had never done such thing in her whole life, not even as a child.

She looked around to ensure nobody was passing by and then, after having carefully hidden her shoes in a bush, she resolutely stepped on the bench. To be honest, the moment she heaved herself up the first branch, she seriously considered jumping down and go looking for Holdwyn. The girl was surely more agile than her and she had no doubt she would have been glad to help. But she had already lost so much time: for all she knew the conversation in Lady Irviniel's study could be already over!

 _Come on, Lamhel!_

Carefully, she took a couple of steps on the branch, until she found a point from which she could get to the next one. It turned out to be easier than expected and, soon enough, her feet touched the hot surface of the library's balcony.

There, a thought flashed her mind: _oh dear, I hope the window is open!_

She looked back the way she had come from: there was no way she would go down the same way! She held her breath as her hand cautiously pushed the glass and…it was open! She quietly slipped inside and tiptoed towards the door connecting the library with the study.

She felt a pang of guilt as she pressed her ear on the door to eavesdrop at least a bit of what was being told in the next room: Lady Irviniel had been so good to her.

She didn't know where she would be without her: ever since arriving in Minas Tirith, she had always been by her side, supporting her, pushing her, never allowing her to get down, showing her one day after the other that she had still a life worth to be lived, teaching her not to care about others, encouraging her to make her own choices.

And now there she was, sneaking behind her back, giving in to her curiosity. But it could not be helped: she needed to know what was going on. She needed to know whether it was really _him_. She needed to know how could he possibly be there, and why!

She owed much to Lady Irviniel. But she wasn't the only one with whom she felt in debt.

She tried to focus and slowly, her ear's sensitivity adjusted and started to pick up fragments of conversation. Further adjustments were not needed, for the tones soon grew loud and heated, enough to be probably heard back in the corridor as well.

She realized she was holding her breath and briskly stood back, staring at the door for just a moment before storming out of the library and back to the balcony.

 _Forgive me, Lady Irviniel, but you are wrong!_

* * *

 **Author's notes:** surprise surprise! I was so happy about receiving so many feedbacks from the previous chapter, that as soon as I found myself with some unexpected free time, I started writing the next one! And, as usual, it came out quite differently from what originally planned, though I quite like it (hopefully you do as well). As mentioned, I thought about sticking with Lothíriel's POV for a couple of chapters but, in the end, I thought it would do for a nice change to see things through the eyes of the people around her

Now: I know this chapter isn't probably what you all wished for, but I didn't want to rush things (which _things_ , we have yet to find out!). And hopefully, Lamhel's weird encounter was enough to stir at least a bit of curiosity. ;)

 _heckofabecca:_ welcome back, I've been missing your reviews! And yes: Éomer's most definitely being an ass. No doubt about that (nor justifications, for the matter). We will see how things will evolve… (tight-lipped author).

 _QueenOfMyOwnWorld:_ thanks! I have to admit I was a bit unsure about it: at first I actually wanted to write it more explicitly, but I didn't really like what was coming out so I ended up scrapping it and went instead for something different that, to me, seemed to convey perfectly what happened and its consequences on Lothíriel.

 _Guest:_ mission accomplished! ;) Sorry for the beyond depressing chapter (and for yet another one, I guess), I will try not to keep you waiting for too long until the next update!

 _villaspa:_ happy you are liking it so far and, as already said: credit to you guys as well for this quick (at least for my standard) update!

 _Guest:_ I know, I know…tons of angst! :o

 _Catspector:_ thanks! Your mention about _diplomatic relations_ actually convinced me about adding a Holdwyn-Imrahil dialogue, so that I could give a bit of perspective into that direction as well. I wasn't really sure how I wanted Lord Arondir to end up: I thought about having him somehow killed or simply leaving him on the run. But I felt some closure was needed and Lady Lamhel was perfect for that. We will see whether she will be able to put the past behind her or not…

 _Cricket22:_ I feel you. Whenever I see a new story from any of my favourite authors, I'm always like _shall I read it or shall I better wait_? But I'm glad you found my story before its end, for then I can make use of your review to further motivate me! I honestly never considered having Lothíriel staying with Aragorn and Arwen, though I have to admit that it would have been an interesting development. I decided to have her going to Dol Amroth partially because Aragorn and Arwen have had so far a marginal role and I didn't really feel like dragging them in now, but also because I thought that, as a father, Imrahil would have rather brought her home. And, if not home, among family anyway (meaning Lebennin). Also, I have to admit that I have a soft spot for Walda and Holdwyn and will definitely consider adding his POV in the future!

 _LittleMariechen:_ aww thank you! I'm afraid we have a bit of another cliffhanger here but well…let's hope next update won't take too long! ;)

 _Menelwen:_ yes, I know, and trust me that it was quite a tough chapter to write! I absolutely agree: he went from love to hate in the blink of an eye (well…almost at least…the events of chapter 24 span over a period of about a couple weeks, all distances considered) and he behaved like a gigantic coward. And just like you had foreseen, Lothíriel is quite losing her mind over it… I must say I originally planned the Lady Lamhel bit to take place in the next instalments and to dedicate this chapter fully to Lothíriel. But after all the angst, I felt like things needed to be rushed a bit. I hope it will still lead to a nice result!

 _Ireumimwoyeyo:_ sorry! :o (though I admit I'm a bit flattered! :D ). Well, let's look at the bright side: at least you didn't have to wait too long for this chapter!


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

 _Lebennin, November the 7_ _th_ _, 3020_

Startled, Lothíriel frantically tried to hide from view what she was doing, pushing back into its envelope the precious infusion. But her movements were hectic, her hands shaking, and quite a few of it fell behind the table and on the carpet. Nothing she could do now: reaching for it would only make things more obvious.

By the time Holdwyn and Lamhel's hurried steps had caught up with her, she had barely had the time to push the package inside her sleeve.

Trying to keep as much of the table out of view, she turned and cautiously stood between the two women and the furniture, panic quickly turning into anger: "What's with knocking! Why didn't you knock?! Don't you have manners at all?".

They barely took notice of her words, Holdwyn already stripping her clothes off, Lamhel rummaging into her closet.

"Get out, now!", she shrieked, trying to stop whatever they were doing.

Lamhel didn't so much as raise her head, throwing instead a gown on her bed and immediately moving to choose a pair of shoes. Holdwyn stepped out of her gown and forced it into her hands: "Put it on".

She stared open-mouthed at it, while Holdwyn clearly pretended not to notice the herb's tracks both on the ground and on the table behind her: "Now!", she urged her.

 _What the…_

"Here, Holdwyn. Wear this. I'll look for something to cover your head". Lamhel helped Holdwyn into a gown, one of those she had been wearing often over those past few days, making a quick work of the laces on the back while the girl worked on the ones in front, already slipping one feet into the pair of shoes that had been prepared: "No, Lamhel! I need something with a bit more heel, least Lady Irviniel will notice the height difference!".

Lamhel looked at her through the mirror: "Don't be ridiculous, there is barely any difference between the two of you".

"We are not talking about some dumb-headed soldier, Lamhel. One thing is to sneak in a camp in the cover of darkness, another is to fool Lady Irviniel. Find me some better shoes!".

Lamhel thoughtfully nodded and did as bid, while Holdwyn came back to her and started to remove her nightgown: "Come on, Lothíriel. We need to get you out before Lady Irviniel shows up".

 _Damn it!_

She pushed away Holdwyn's hands: "You two, I'm telling you: if you think you can drag me to the market or to have a fun ride, or whatever else you are planning to do, you are sorely mistaken. Get out of my room and be happy that I will have my morning walk on the beach: alone!".

Holdwyn sighed, clearly exasperated by her reticence, but before she could manage to say anything, Lamhel pushed her unceremoniously aside and took her by her shoulders: "Listen to me, Lothíriel: I know you'd rather have us leave you rotting in your misery, but what if…", she bit her lip, as if she was trading carefully her words, "what if I told you that there is an explanation? One you ought to hear out before letting yourself being consumed by your stupid, absurd guilty conscience?".

Before she could even realize it, she had shoved her back, once, twice: "Stupid!? Absurd!? And what would you know about it, eh? What would the noble Lady Lamhel know? What have you ever done in your life to know it? Nothing! Always wagging your tail after your father, you've never dared taking a decision on your own!".

She would have pushed her again, hadn't Holdwyn stepped between the two of them, her hand smacking her squarely and loudly on the cheek.

Suddenly, the twitting of the blackbirds and the sparrows was the only sound filling the room and, for a few long moments, nobody moved. Holdwyn's cheeks were red, her teeth gritted, the veins on her neck popped out: "Did you even hear what she just told you?!", she hissed at her.

Lothíriel held her cheek, incredulous: "What…".

"She just told you that there is an explanation for everything that has happened and all you choose to hear, is that you have a foolish, insane guilt. Which, for the record, is true".

She looked back at Lady Lamhel, confused, befuddled: "What…what explanation? What are you even talking about?".

Holdwyn sighed, frustrated, looking back towards Lamhel as if in search of reassurance: "For Éomer's behaviour, Lothíriel! An explanation that has nothing to do with what you did".

Blood froze in her veins and she backed off, shaking her head: "No…no, I know why he…".

Negation.

She had spent the last two months trying to delete from her mind any memory that was even remotely connected with _him_ while, at the same time, tormenting herself with the remorse for all the things that she had done. And when it had become unbearable, when memories had threatened to overwhelm her, she had turned to anything that could take her mind off: wine, liquor and, especially, the healer's potion.

To even think that things might be different, was enough to shake her core. And she wasn't sure whether she could handle it: "Get out, please. Leave me be, I can't…".

Holdwyn took her by the shoulders and shook her: "Look at yourself, Lothíriel. You think learning that things aren't as they look, will make you feel worse? How would it even be possible?! I decided to stay with you until spring because I thought, I hoped, that I could help you. And now, I'm not even sure whether you will make it until spring! Bema, I'm not even sure whether you will make it until Yule! After every strike, you have always fought back: after Gamling's death, after uncovering the evidence of Lord Arondir's culpability, after finding out Éomer's King was battling for his own life, after he awoke… But over the past few weeks you gave up, you...you are letting yourself be consumed, you are letting yourself die, Lothíriel! I wake up every morning and find another piece of yourself gone from this world, and I can't do anything to stop it, to stop you. When Lamhel came to me yesterday, I was reluctant at first. But then I realized we had nothing to lose at this point, I realized things could not possibly get any worse. That if there is one chance we can give you, it's this one".

Lamhel's eyes were watery as she stepped forward and rested a reassuring hand on Holdwyn's shoulder: "We have organized everything, Lothiriel. We can give you a few hours before Lady Irviniel will eventually realize our deception and send out guards to scout the area. By then, you better be back or far enough from here that they will not catch up with you".

"I often walk to the harbour, in the morning. Guards are used to see me passing by: cover your hair, and they shouldn't question you. Meanwhile, I will take a stroll on the beach: Lady Irviniel will think it's you and won't question your whereabouts. If she does, Lady Lamhel will be here and will try to invent something".

"Once out, head South through the forest but stay clear of the main road, least you might cross some of your aunt's guard and raise suspicions. There is a ruined Elvish watchtower, not one hour on foot from here: you think you can find it?".

Her head felt like it had been reduced to pulp and all she could do was nodding, unable to process what was going on.

"Good. I've raided the kitchen and collected a few leftovers and something to drink. In any case, even if Lady Irviniel doesn't realize what's going on, latest by sunset we will tell her and have somebody coming. Now: let's get you ready".

* * *

Lothíriel slogged through the forest, dragging one feet after the one. Sweat trickled down her forehead and she could feel the fabric of the gown glowing to her back, her hair sticking to her neck.

How long had she been walking? She should have already reached the tower, it wasn't that far.

She knew the place well: as children, it had been her and Amrothos' favourite spot. Whenever visiting their aunt, they would always spend entire afternoons playing there: Amrothos pretending to be a valorous Swan Knight, atop a majestic stallion which, in their representation, was normally just a stick collected in the woods. Her, playing the ruthless Corsair: she would wrap her head in some black scarf, sometimes cover her pale skin in mug and dirt, not caring one bit about the scolding she was to receive once back at the palace.

It felt like a thousand lifetimes had passed since then.

She stopped, leaning with her hands on her knees and trying to catch her breath: there was no way she was going to make it to the tower that way. She surreptitiously looked around: the main road was far enough and, from what she could tell, nobody else was dwelling in that part of the forest.

She got rid of the damned scarf and used it to dry off her wet skin: it was November, but felt more like August. Temperatures had been incredibly warm that autumn, and while on the beach there was always a gentle breeze offering some relief, in the cover of the forest the air was terribly still.

The pine needles cracked under her feet and she was dismayed to realize that she had already drunk most of the water Holdwyn had given her.

She didn't know why she was there. She didn't know what kept her going. Or maybe she did, but preferred not to think about it. Holdwyn was right: in a rare moment of lucidity, she had found herself agreeing that, whatever awaited for her at the tower, she didn't have much to lose.

Death. That was maybe the only worsening to her situation that could happen. And honestly, at that point, dead or alive seemed to hardly make the difference.

She tried to walk a few steps but her head was spinning and her legs felt like jelly. Reluctantly, she checked on the food that Holdwyn had packed for her: there was some ham, some aged cheese and a couple of slices of dark bread. Just the idea of chewing on the spicy meat felt revolting, but she knew she had to eat something if she wanted to reach the tower, and so she stuffed her mouth with the cheese and forced it down with the last few drops of water.

What had Lamhel said? _Not one hour on foot from here_. Indeed, from what she could remember, the tower really wasn't that far from the palace. Was she really proceeding that slow, or had she got lost? She shook her head: no, that was impossible. Had she headed the wrong direction, she would have either come across the road or ended up on the coast. Or, in the worse case, back to her aunt's residence. No, the direction must have been right.

She kept going and by the time the tower finally came in sight, she felt utterly exhausted. Right then, the only thing she could think of, was throwing herself on the soft grass growing inside the ruins and sleep until the next day. She knew she wouldn't be able to do it, but it was still a nice thing to dream about.

Not much had changed since the last time she had been there. In fact, she doubted people would often happen by the tower. Vegetation covered the most of it and a couple of trees sprouted from its collapsed roof. She looked around, searching for the stone that Amrothos had always pretended to be his imaginary throne when, suddenly, she realized that not everything was quite like she remembered.

There were traces spread around, as if somebody had been camping there. An extinguished fire, the peel and core of some fruits, a rugged cloak hanging from the branches of a dead tree. A thick blanket had been roughly rolled up, presumably to be used as a pillow, and behind the corner she could glimpse what seemed to be a saddlebag. She looked more around, her eyes quickly scanning the environment, until they found something from which they could not possibly move away.

With trembling steps she walked to the centre of the tower, her shaking fingers brushing the hot, golden hilt of a sword she would recognize among thousands of others.

 _Gúthwinë._

Her first thought, was that she was hallucinating, that because she hadn't been able to drink her potion that morning, she was having a withdrawal. Problem was, she felt more lucid in that moment than she had been in weeks, if not months. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, she could hear the grasshoppers inhabiting the forest and enjoying that prolonged summer, she could smell the salt in the air.

How could a hallucination possibly feel so real?

She tried to lift the sword: it was heavy, and she was weak. With some effort, she managed to unsheathe and, holding it with both her hands and using all the strength she could muster, she lifted it and looked at it, at its familiar engravings. Her eyes slid along the length of its polished blade, until she saw a reflection.

The reflection of somebody standing right behind her.

She winced, Gúthwinë falling from her hands and clattering loudly on the stones, bouncing dangerously close to her feet. She whirled around and the moment she met _those_ dark eyes staring back at her, she instinctively covered her face with her hands, her head shaking.

"Lothíriel…".

She could hear his footsteps and immediately started to retreat, to walk back: "No, no, no. You are not here".

"Loth…".

"You are not real…go away…please…".

She continued her retreat until her feet stumbled on Amrothos' throne. And the moment two warm hands caught her before she could fall, she realized it: this was not a hallucination. This was not a twisted byproduct of her herb's dependence.

No: it was happening for real. This was what Lamhel and Holdwyn had sent her there for.

She had spent the last two months haunted by the knowledge that her recklessness had condemned him to spending the rest of his life on a chair, to never being able to walk nor ride anymore. The image of him, lying in his bed in Meduseld, had flashed in her mind every night before eventually succumbing to the effects of her potion.

And now, there he was. Calling her name, standing in front of her eyes. Standing.

* * *

"Don't touch me!".

Lothíriel's shriek filled the air, causing a couple of sparrows to hastily fly from their nests.

She pushed his hands away and retreated further away from him, until she had reached the crumbling wall of the tower. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, she looked at him up and down, as if she could not believe her own eyes: "How…how's that possible…how can you be here?".

Willing to calm her down, Éomer raised his hands in front of him, feeling at the same time like he was being stabbed by a thousand knives, like he had fallen into dark waters and suddenly realized there was no air left in his lungs.

 _What have I done?_

He knew. He knew Lothíriel would have suffered at his words, he knew the situation to be dire, and yet nothing could have ever prepared him to seeing her like that. He should have known: Lady Irviniel's refusal to even mentioning her name in his presence, her fury, her wrath, her insults, her threats. They were big enough clues. And if anything, then Lady Lamhel's sudden appearance, her decision to help him despite what Lady Irviniel had decided, should have washed away any doubt.

Yet, now that he could finally look at her, he felt like no word could have ever prepared him for that sight.

"Oh Lothíriel, please forgive me…", he whispered to himself.

But she heard him. And the moment she did, her expression changed: from shock, stupor, bewilderment, to rage. Her pale, sunken cheeks, quickly reddened and before he could even realize what she was up to, the first stone flew to his direction.

Others followed and by the time he had caught up with her, more than a couple of them had reached their target and hit him. He grabbed her wrists but as soon as he did that, a well struck kick had him almost collapsing on his knees. Somehow, he managed to stay upright and in an attempt to save himself from further blows, he turned Lothíriel around so that he was firmly holding her from behind.

She squirmed in his arms, trying to get free of his hold, cursing him, ordering him to let her go, to keep his hands off her. Instead, he pulled her closer and tighter, until her efforts eventually waned off, until her rage seemed to melt and he felt her lithe body being shaken by an uncontrollable sobbing.

He hid his face in her hair and that moment, it was as if a dam had broken down.

For weeks, he had put all he had into not giving up. Ever since that clear morning, when Éothain had entered his bedroom to warn him of a mysterious rider approaching the city, he had given all he had into trying to give himself another chance. With one single aim: not recovering, nor being able to lead his men into battle again. No, only one thought had been in his mind, pushing him through day after day of painful therapy: to jump atop Firefoot and ride straight to Lothiriel, to beg her to forgive him, to give him another chance.

He hadn't told anybody, no one in Meduseld knew what was going on behind the closed doors of the Royal apartments, for he could not bear it: the hopeful glances, the whispers. Had his efforts proved vain, he knew he wouldn't have been able to face their crushed hopes. Not again.

And even when it had become clear that his recovery would be full, he still hadn't told anybody. Instead, he had sneaked out from the backdoor and rode away, to the only thing that mattered: not himself, not Rohan.

Lothíriel.

Tears run across his cheeks, his sobs merged with Lothíriel's, his legs gave in and they both fell to their knees. He held her even closer to him, crying out all the misery of the past weeks: the anguish at realizing he wouldn't have walked anymore. The angst at knowing he had deliberately caused pain to the only woman he had ever loved, and the only one he would always love. And once back in Edoras, the struggle to keep up with his people's expectations. The bitter anger his household had treated him with, once rumours of what had happened had started to spread around.

And yet, he hadn't told anybody.

Not Éothain, the day he had stepped into his carriage, looking at him like he could barely stand his sight, telling him that he was a shame for them all. Not Birthwyn, when she had barged into his room, yelling like a madwoman, asking him whether he had lost his mind. When he had refused to answer or even acknowledge her presence in the room, she had looked at him, hissing that Lothíriel deserved better than a coward like him.

But even then, he hadn't said a word.

He had taken them all: the insults, the curses, the scorn. For they were nothing compared to how he felt on the inside.

A barely audible mumble brought him back to the present. Still holding Lothíriel to his chest, he lifted his head from her hair: "Lothíriel?".

"Please let me go, Éomer. Please…", she begged him.

Trying to ignore the pang those whispered words caused, he gently released her wrists and observed her as she dragged herself on shaky arms and away from him. She only managed to put a few feet between them before falling back again, her head resting on the trunk of a tree, her eyes closed, her chest visibly heaving, as if she could simply not take any more of _that_ : "Why are you here?".

He closed his hands in fists, trying to resist the urge to go and pull her up in his arms: "I never meant for this to happen, Lothíriel".

Her eyes slowly cracked open, struggling to focus on him: "What do you mean? I…I don't follow you, Éomer, I…". She brought her trembling hands to her face, her head slowly shaking: "I don't understand…".

He had planned it for so long: what he would tell her, the exact words, the precise sentences. He had never been good with speeches, but he knew he needed to get this one right and so he had spent night after night thinking about it. But in that moment, all was thrown down into the sewers: "I never meant…I thought you'd better off without me. I never planned it to go as it did, you weren't supposed to come after me that day…".

"I wasn't…what?".

He sighed, rethinking for the thousandth time about the events of that day: "I had left my squire behind. I had instructed him to wait for you to show up that evening, like you always did, and to deliver you a letter. Another one would have then been delivered to your father…I wasn't expecting you to give up too easily, but I was confident that your father would have kept you from running after me. But nothing went as planned…".

Hauling herself on a nearby stone, Lothíriel slowly stood up, frowning: "What letters? What are you trying to say?".

"I wrote you a letter, because I was afraid I wouldn't have been able to lie to you, were you to stand in front of me. You've always been able to read me like an open book, Lothíriel. How was I supposed to lie to your face, to break your heart, without you realizing what I was doing?".

" _Lie_?".

"Yes. I collected all the men who might have tried to warn you about my early departure and left Minas Tirith at the break of dawn, sure that I would have never seen you again, that I had broken your heart for good but hoping that, eventually, you would have hated me for what I did and moved on with your life. I knew it was going to leave you scarred, but I still thought it better than spending the rest of your days by the side of a man whom…whom…I had no future to give you, Lothíriel. Not anymore".

"No…you looked at me straight in the eyes and told me you hated me. I-I remember…", she whispered, as if trying to hold onto that memory, as if she didn't want to believe what he was trying to tell her.

"I had spent the first half of that day in that cursed carriage, brooding over what I had just done, over the pain I had caused you. And I hated…I hated it all, damn it! Myself, my broken body, fate for having tricked us that way, for having us believe in a future together just to be denied it…had I been able to stand on my feet, I'd have teared that carriage into pieces! And then you suddenly showed up and so I clung to that anger. I could not explain you why I was doing it, it would have been pointless, Lothíriel. You would have found a way to make me change my mind. And I knew I'd have regretted it, that one day I would have looked at you, while you cared for the half-man I was, and I would have regretted not giving you the chance of a better future".

"It was not your choice! It was mine and mine alone!". Lothíriel's cry seemed to shake the very foundations of the tower, the forest felt eerily quiet: "You had no right to choose for me, you had no right to decide what was best for me!".

"I know, Lothíriel".

"That's why you kept avoiding me in Minas Tirith? You had it all planned?".

He sighed deeply: "That day on the boat, you remember it? You told me that you wouldn't have allowed me to give up, you told me that it did not matter if I was to spend the rest of my days in a chair, for you would have always loved me. That moment…that moment, I knew. I knew that I wanted you to have more from life, more than nurturing a crippled man for the rest of your days, more…".

"And what did you give me, eh? Look at me, Éomer! Come, take a good look!", she opened her arms and took a couple of steps towards him: "You want to know what you gave me? I tell you: I can't stand food, I need potions to numb my senses at day _and_ to sleep at night, because the knowledge that you hated me, that I was responsible for everything that has happened, was more than I was able to stand, more than I wished to stand! And now you show up here, and pretend to take it all back?!".

"I'm sorry, Lothíriel. I thought you'd eventually recover, that you…".

"How long".

"How long what?".

"How long since you've recovered".

"About a week after we arrived in Edoras, an elven healer sent by Lord Elrond rode in. He gave me no guarantee, but he said he might have been able to help me recovering the use of my legs. There were days when it felt like having to learn how to walk from scratches, evenings when the pain in my legs was almost unbearable. I feared the progresses I was making would have stopped some when along the way, but they didn't. And as soon as I felt fit enough, I took a horse and rode as fast as I could to come to you".

For all the reactions he had expected, laughing was not one of them: "So now that you deem yourself fit enough to be at my side, you come here to collect me? How awfully noble of you!".

He took a step towards her but she immediately retreated back, as if his very presence there was something she could not stand.

And so he stopped, and kneeled at her feet instead, the fear that he might have ruined it all, that it might have been too late, gripping and twisting his heart: "I came here to tell you the truth, to tell you that I should have never lied. I came here to ask you to forgive me, if you will. I came here to tell you that I love you, Lothíriel. Words have never been my strong suite, but…".

"Until when?".

He looked up at her: " _Until when_ what?".

"Until when will your words stay true, Éomer? One year? Two years? Five years? Then what? When the next crisis will struck, what will you invent to push me aside once again? _For my own good_ , naturally".

"That won't happen again, Lothíriel. I will not let it happen, I…".

A single tear fell from her eye and run down her cheek, the sadness in her voice almost deafening him: "How many times have I told you, Éomer: you can't control everything. The evening we first spoke about Aefre, you remember?".

How could he forget it. He remembered everything of that evening: her crimson gown, her scented hair, her light steps as she crossed the room and kissed him…: "Of course I do".

"You asked me to trust you. You said you had never lied and never would. And I did trust you, Éomer. Blindly. Foolishly. When you accused me of being responsible for all that had happened, I trusted you. I spent the last months hating myself, blaming myself, cursing myself for being the way I am. And now you come here, and think all can be fixed by kneeling and begging to be forgiven?".

"Lothíriel…".

"No, Éomer. There are things that can't be fixed".

He stared at her, unable to say anything. _It cannot end like this. I will not let it end like this!_ "I know I've wronged you, Lothíriel. But I only did it because I wished to protect you, I wished you to be happy. And if that meant spending the rest of my days never being able to see you again, knowing that you hated me, it did not matter to…".

"Éomer?". Her voice was ice cold: she looked at him straight in the eyes, her face an impassive, undecipherable mask: "I do not wish to hear it. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever".

He scrambled to his feet but she raised a hand in front of her and shook her head: "I will now turn and walk back to the palace, and I don't want you to follow me, I don't want you to try stopping me. If you have understood that you had no right making choices for me back then, the please respect my decision now".

And with that, she just turned and walked out of the tower. He stared at the corner behind which she had disappeared: "Wait!".

She accelerated her pace: "What did I just tell you?".

"I know what you just told me. Just, please: there's something I want you to have".

"We are not betrothed, Éomer. Not anymore. Nor we will ever be again. Gifts would be inappropriate".

But the moment he whistled, she hesitated: "You should keep him, Lothíriel. If not as a betrothal gift, then as a token of Rohan's gratitude, for everything you have done for her and her people. Please".

* * *

Lothíriel patted Sparkler's strong neck as they slowly moved down the street leading back to her aunt's palace.

She didn't know why, but he had always had a calming, soothing effect on her. She hadn't ridden a horse for months but right then, atop her old friend, cradled by the rocking of his slow trot, she felt like exhaling in relief.

Maybe she shouldn't have accepted him, maybe she should have told Éomer to ride him back to Edoras. But Sparkler had always been so much more than a betrothal gift. Actually: he had become a betrothal gift just because he had already meant so much to her, and not vice versa.

Sparkler was Gamling's smile. He was the sense of freedom at riding for the first time across Rohan's endless plains. He was the majestic profile on the White Mountains, watching over Edoras and her people. He was the tease with Holdwyn and Maegwen during their rides around the city.

He was everything good that had happened to her while in Rohan.

She pulled Sparkler's reins until he came to a halt: she turned in the unfamiliar saddle and looked at the road behind her, at the past she was walking away from. And then she looked at the road in front of her, at the future towards which she was walking.

 _Is this all? Am I doing the right thing?_

She glanced at the coin filled pouch that Éomer had forgotten on the saddle, a thrill going down her spine, making her feel suddenly very alive.

No, that was not all!

People had always tried to choose for her: Éomer, the day he had deceived her. Her aunt, the day she had decided she ought not to learn the truth about it.

But there were choices she could still make. Paths she could shape on her own.

"What do you think, Sparkler?".

He neighed, shaking his head and stomping his hoofs on the ground: "Thought just as much".

She stirred him to the right and urged him forward, into the forest, away from Éomer and her aunt, from her past and her future.

Away from beaten tracks and into the unknown.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** thank you for the many reviews to the last chapter, folks! As you can see, it's still keeping my motivation (and muse) high! Oh, and mood, of course! :)

This is a part of the story that I have changed a lot compared to my first draft. Originally, I had planned to have Lothíriel riding once again to Éomer, maybe having the two of them meeting halfway. But it did not feel right, to be honest. After all she has done for him, I decided it was high time for _him_ to ride to _her_.

I realize this chapter might feel confusing and that there are still many pending questions about what exactly happened to Éomer and, even more, what are Lothíriel's feelings after this encounter. All I can say is that answers will arrive, when the time is due.

In this story, Éomer has always been willing to scarify everything just to protect those he loved. At the same time, one of the reasons I had him struggling as a King in the first place, was because he was unable to accept that there were things that went beyond his control. That's why I thought it a likely scenario that he would try to push Lothíriel away, if he believed she wouldn't have been happy by his side.

I thought a lot about how Lothíriel would react to learning the truth. She has been devastated over the past chapters, that's true. But being the woman she is (or, as _Doria Nell_ perfectly summarized it, a _free spirit_ ), I just didn't like the idea of her falling back into Éomer's arms and live happily ever after. Hence the final of this chapter, which is a bit of a cliffhanger I suppose.

 _MissCallaLilly:_ thanks! The _you…I…but what…uh…no…CRAP_ was exactly the reaction I was hoping for! :D I liked the idea of having Lamhel spotting a mysterious figure, leaving unclear his identity until the following chapter: could it be her father, or maybe a Hardrim, or maybe a certain Rohirrim King…

 _Doria Nell:_ I absolutely agree. Healing from such situations takes time and it's never easy. Which is another reason why I decided to have Lothíriel walking away from Éomer, instead of jumping at his neck like nothing had ever happened. Months of pain and suffer can't be easily erased, trust can't be magically restored. IF it can be restored at all, of course. Still: _sad, broken-hearted prick_ is quite a good summary! :D Thank you for your reviews!

 _Cricket22_ : thank you so much, you had me smiling like an idiot in front of my computer for a solid minute! It's great to hear I managed to convey the suspense. As I said in the notes to the previous chapter, I had originally planned their confrontation to happen a bit later. However, I decided instead to move forward at a quicker pace and save you another depressing chapter about Lothíriel. I know, this chapter isn't cheerful either, but it just felt right this way. Hope you liked it anyway and yes, I also liked the idea of Lamhel's baby helping her moving on with her life. I guess I needed a little happy note in such dark chapter!

 _heckofabecca:_ help I'm not sure, change though…

 _silverswrath_ : thank you! Her addiction will surely play a role in the future, one doesn't get rid of such things in the blink of an eye. We will see how she will manage…

 _AmandaBaker852_ : here's your conversation. Though I'm guessing it's not really what you hoped for! :o

 _LittleMariechen:_ so…was your guess about the hooded figure right? Glad you liked the various POVs, felt actually refreshing to write from the perspective of other characters!

 _Menelwen_ : now that you point it out, you are right that _Rohirrim girl_ is wrong :o But actually, it should be _Rohirric_ and not _Rohir_ , for it is an adjective and not a noun! I don't know why but I often do this mistake. I normally realize when I do the last revision before posting, but this one slipped through. Thanks for pointing it out! Yes, I wanted the Lamhel's bit to be foggy enough to leave various possibilities on the table, one surely being the one you mentioned! As per _how can she believe him_ , I think our mind can do tricky things where feeling are involved. In a way, Lothíriel had always felt a bit responsible for many things that had happened, such as Gamling's death. Having Éomer accusing her, when she was already in a fragile state of mind to boot, could have easily made her believe that it really was all her fault. And learning from one day to the other that it wasn't true, it's not an easy thing to handle!

 _Ireumimwoyeyo:_ even quicker! :D I'm guessing the tiny bit of hope was linked to the stranger being, in fact, Eomer. Well I'm not an expert of Japanese or Korean tv-shows, but I'll take it as a compliment! ;)

 _Guest:_ thank you! I read your review first thing after waking up and it was a great way to start the day! Hope you liked this chapter as well.

 _Wondereye:_ and reunion it was. Well, kind of at least…


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

 _Lebennin, November the 10_ _th_ _, 3020_

"You'll be soon wearing a groove in that floor".

Holdwyn snapped towards Lamhel, keeping herself from shouting only for Galdir's sake: "How can you be so calm!?".

"How can you be so worried?".

She had come to like the woman. But really, at times she seemed completely nut: "How can _I_ be so worried? In case you haven't noticed, Lothíriel's been missing since three days! Oh, and did I mention that my King is currently locked in a cellar downstairs, with nobody outside of this palace knowing about it?".

Lamhel seemed completely unmoved: "Lothíriel made her decision, Holdwyn. As per…".

"Made her decision?! Do you even listen to yourself? She's out there, alone, maybe lost! Bema knows what she could do, what could happen to her!".

Lamhel waved her hand, as if she was being ridiculous: "Hush. She has killed the assassin that was sent to murder her. She has been cunning enough to beat my father at his own game. She has ridden through the desert just to come to your King's help. And you think she can't manage spending a few days on her own in Gondor?".

Holdwyn rubbed her face, her patience quickly turning into hysteria: "Look, Lamhel. I get it that you have never ventured out on your own and that you might ignore the way things are. So by all means, let me enlighten you". She strode to the window, her finger pointing peremptorily outside: "Out there, the world is a dangerous place! Even now that Mordor, the Corsairs and the Haradrim have been defeated and do not represent a threat anymore. Even more so for a lone, unarmed woman, who has never wandered on her own before, who has no idea how to orientate in a forest, how to build a fire or how to procure herself some food!".

Lamhel rolled her eyes: "I think you are all making too much out of it. It's Lebennin, not Harad nor Rohan: villages are scattered across the whole region, I'm sure she will have no problem finding an inn to spend the night. And if half of the things I've heard about Rohirric horses and especially this one are true, I believe she has way more protection than you believe".

Reasoning with that woman was simply impossible. One would think that after all she had gone through, she would trade a bit more carefully about the dangers of the world. But no: at times, she could be as birdbrained as any other Gondorian noblewoman. "Sparkler is a horse! A protective one, sure, but still a horse! What if something happens to her? What if something has already happened to her? What if that's the reason they haven't found any track of her?".

Lamhel sighed, exasperated: "She needed to know, Holdwyn. You can't possibly regret having sent her out. Maybe she just needs some time on her own to sort things out. Look: the Lothíriel we have seen over the past two months would have never thought about doing something so reckless. I believe that speaking with Éomer has managed to wake her up, and if that means leaving her free to be on her own for a while, even at the expenses of her own safety, then be it. I still find it a better predicament compared to being here, walking around like a ghost and hiding potions in her mattress…".

Holdwyn heavily sat on a chair: "I know that. It's just…I wished she had come back. I could have gone with her, I could have helped her…".

"We did what we could, Holdwyn. Now it's up to her. If I were you, I'd be more concerned about your King…".

She threw her head back and groaned: what was she to do now?

The day Lothíriel had gone missing, they had dared hoping that she had ridden away with Éomer. That she had decided to forgive him and give him another chance. That the King and the Princess had secretly run away together.

How romantically foolish of them.

The moment she had seen Éomer being dragged into the courtyard by Lady Irviniel's guards, she had known things had gone terribly wrong.

She had tried to speak to him, to find out what had happened. But Lothíriel's aunt wasn't going to easily forgive her and Lamhel for having deceived her, for having delivered Lothíriel to the hands of the very man who had caused all their problems.

Together with Lamhel and Galdir, she had spent the last three days practically locked in the Southern wing of the palace, with no less than four guards constantly watching their movements and a host of tight-lipped maids ensuring their comfort. Any communication she had tried to send out had been constantly intercepted and all they knew, was what Lady Irviniel had deemed appropriate to tell them: Éomer and Lothíriel had separated at the tower. He had given her back her beloved horse and watched her riding back towards the palace. He had aimlessly wandered through the forest for the whole night, until the guards had found him. Only then had he learned that Lothíriel had never come back.

"How could he be so calm?".

"Who?".

"Éomer King. When they brought him in: how could he be so calm?".

Lamhel arched one of her elegantly shaped eyebrows: "What did you want him to do? Tear down the palace with his nails?".

"He should have been worried, he should have tried to go looking for her. Instead, he just allowed them to drag him into the cellar".

Lamhel kneeled next to her, holding one of her hands: "I don't know what you have seen, Holdwyn. What I saw, was a man who had just lost the woman he loved because of his own stupidity. He wasn't calm, Holdwyn. He has simply come to understand and accept what you and Lady Irviniel can't: that Lothíriel has taken a decision, and that we need to respect that decision. We owe her that much".

She sighed again, but as a murmur spread through the guards and the maids, both her and Lamhel rushed to their feet. Lady Irviniel stormed in the room and came standing right in front of them, looking sternly from one to the other: "Pack your belongings, Holdwyn. You are leaving at dusk".

* * *

The clicking of woman's shoes moving across the stone floor of the cellar, told him what his eyes could not yet see.

After two days of complete isolation, Lady Irviniel had finally decided to come to him.

Clad in a black gown, her silver hair tightly braided and partially covered by a matching scarf, she stood in front of the bars of the cell he had been locked in, her hard expression speaking in volumes.

"So you haven't found her".

"You seem pleased, _King_ ".

He chuckled, slowly getting to his feet: "You know better than that, Lady Irviniel".

"Maybe I do. Or maybe I don't. You ride here, claim to love her, beg me to allow you to see her, to tell her what you did and why. You yell like a madman that I can't keep you apart and then, what do you do? You leave her on her own, as if you hadn't seen that she was unwell. And even when we tell you that she has been missing, you don't even react, you let us drag you down here and you spend two days sitting in a corner". She paused, looking at him up and down like he was some kind of revolting beast: "Is this what _you_ call _love_?".

He remembered Lothíriel's first days in Edoras. He remembered how good she was at striking the right nerve, at driving him mad with one word, with one movement of her hand. A skill that she seemed to have clearly inherited from her aunt: "And what would _you_ know about love, Lady Irviniel?", he hissed back.

"Weight your words carefully, _King_. I am an old woman who has never cared for politic and who has very little to lose".

"Threatening me won't bring her back".

" _You_ should have brought her back to the palace!", Lady Irviniel snapped, her cry echoing in the cellar, reverberating into the intricate labyrinth of passages and tunnels.

He grabbed the bars that stood between them, his nostrils flaring: "I should have never deceived her! I should have never told her that I hated her! I should have never blamed her for my condition! That's what I should have done! She asked me to let her go, she asked me not to follow her!".

"So you let her go?! Even if that meant putting her at risk?!".

He breathed deeply and took a step back, trying to calm himself: "Yes".

"Why?".

"Of all the people, how can _you_ ask me something like that? Back in Edoras, Lothíriel spent entire evenings telling me about her beloved aunt, how you encouraged her to be herself, to be free, even when it meant doing mistakes. Did you really think that came free of expenses?".

"I've never put her in danger, if that's what you are implying".

"No. But you can't teach someone to be free and then expect her to mildly follow the rules at your leisure. She has been constantly putting herself in danger: when she took over the trading in Dol Amroth, when she rode to Pelargir with Gamling, when she came to Edoras, when she rode to Harad. You think any other woman would have done what she did?".

Lady Irviniel's hands were locked into trembling fists, her eyes were fixed on his': "She always had guards…".

"Guards can be killed, as experience proved us. After Lord Arondir sent his assassin, don't you think I would have rather locked her in a tower, so that I could keep her safe and out of harm? I'd have loved to! Instead, I walked her to her father and asked him to let her investigate the circumstances of her attempted murder. Because I love her for who she is and I couldn't…I didn't want to change her, no matter how scary it could be at times".

"This is different…".

"No, it's not! True, she is taking a much bigger risk this time, but I just… back in Minas Tirith, I shouldn't have lied to her, I shouldn't have decided for her. I should have let her do what she wanted to do, I should have let her come with me to Edoras. But that day at the tower, had I tried to stop her, had I frantically run to look for her, to drag her back in here whether she wanted it or not, what had I proved, what had I learned from all this mess?! Nothing!".

Unmoved by his words, Lady Irviniel leant towards the bars, the flickering light of a torch only partially enlightening her features: "Pray, Éomer King. Pray that nothing happens to her. Because if it does, not even all the riders of Rohan will be able to protect you".

And with that, she turned and hurried down the dark corridor.

A guard stepped forward: his rounded belly was barely contained in a strained tunic and a heavy set of keys rattled at his belt. He opened the cell and unceremoniously thrown all his belongings at his feet: "Get out of here, King. And if I were you, I'd never come back".

A group of guards, the same who had dragged him in only a few days earlier, escorted him out.

As he was finally able to take a breath of fresh air, he raised his head to the sky: locked in the dark cellar, he had completely lost the sense of time, the feeling of day and night. But he wasn't surprised to see that Lady Irviniel was having the kindness of releasing him at dusk.

The sun had already started to set, turning the sky into a vibrant red canvas painted in pink clouds. Another time, another place, he might have stopped to admire it. Now, he barely took notice.

Waiting at the gate, together with Holdwyn, the last kindness of his host: two horses, both of whom had clearly seen better days.

"Éomer King", Holdwyn greeted him.

"I take it Lady Irviniel is disposing of you as well".

"There is no reason for me to stay here any longer. Lady Irviniel has therefore decided that I should go back home with you, my Lord", Holdwyn mumbled, her eyes fixed on the ground.

* * *

They had been riding in absolute silence for a couple of hours, when Éomer stopped and turned towards her: "The next village is too far: I'm sorry Holdwyn, but we will have to camp in the forest".

"Of course, my Lord".

She followed him as he led her to a clearing, not too far from the main road itself.

How she wished to be anywhere else.

With Walda, back in Edoras. With Lothiriel, wandering through the unfamiliar Gondorian forests. With Lamhel and Galdir, keeping up with Lady Irviniel's wrath. Literally: anywhere else would be better than being alone with Éomer King, camping in the wild, the prospect of a several days' ride ahead of them.

She looked at him as he took care of making a fire that would keep them warm during the night, his movements slow and practiced: "I am sorry, Holdwyn".

"My Lord?".

"I am sorry you find yourself in this predicament. I know you would have preferred staying here for a while longer, rather than coming with me. If that makes you feel any better, I don't think it will take us more than a couple of days before coming across my Royal Guard".

She straightened her back, confused: "They are coming here?".

"Well, I can't know for sure. But once Éothain had realized I was gone, I doubt he decided to keep calm and wait for me to come back. And given that I rode away with Sparkler, I dare say it's quite easy to guess where I was headed to…".

She looked at him, hesitant and confused at the same time: "My Lord?".

"Yes, Holdwyn".

"What has happened?".

When he did not answer, she almost feared she had gone too far with meddling into her King's affairs: "I'm sorry, my Lord. I spoke out of turn…".

He raised his hand to silence her. As a lively fire was finally secured, he slowly walked around and took place on the other side of it, staring pensively into the flames: "You didn't, Holdwyn. And with everything you went through, everything you did, you deserve an explanation".

He checked into his saddlebag: "Looks like Lady Irviniel was kind enough to give us some fish pies for the way. Would you like some?".

"No, thanks. I ate right before leaving, I'm not hungry".

Éomer chewed carefully on the crusty cake, twisting it in his fingers and closely examining its filling: "How did Lothíriel find out that I had left Minas Tirith?".

Cursing herself for having started that conversation, Holdwyn hesitated: "I…me and Walda were always meeting in the evening, after we were done with our duties. But back in Minas Tirith, Lothíriel hardly requested me to do anything at all. That afternoon, I had nothing to do, so I decided to see whether Walda could sneak out a bit earlier".

"And doing so you realized we were all gone…hadn't considered that possibility in my _brilliant_ plan".

Deciding it was for the best to ignore his sarcasm, she went on with her part of the story: "Yes. I run back to the city as fast as I could to warn Lothíriel. She never told me, but I knew she feared she was losing you and for a moment, after I told her you had left, I thought she would have torn her room to pieces. She was beside herself but then…well, she _was_ Lothíriel. And Lothíriel doesn't give up so easily. She ordered me to get ready and we rushed to the stables…".

"I guess I know the rest". He took another bite of food and helped himself with some water: "You think me a complete fool, don't you?".

She sighed and looked at her hands in her lap: "I…I understand why you wanted to push her aside. I know you only wanted what was best for her. And I get that you might have thought it better for her to find her future elsewhere. But how could you…how could you even think about sneaking away like you did? How could you tell her those things? How could you …", a sob escaped her and she angrily dried away a tear prickling at the corner of her eye.

"Did you know that before we left for the Southern campaign, I almost called off our betrothal?".

She nodded with her head, a chuckle escaping her lips in spite of everything: "The famed spat in the garden. Every stone in Minas Tirith knows about it".

"Yes…I feared I was not worth her, told her she would have been happier by the side of a man who wouldn't eventually let her down. And what did she do? First, she slapped me. Then, she walked me around my fears, told me she knew what she was getting into, that she knew who I was and that she trusted me. I started that conversation willing to break up with her. One hour later, we were officially betrothed".

"That can't justify what you did…".

He raised his hand: "No. I won't even try to justify what I did, I couldn't. All I am saying, is that I found myself facing the prospect of spending the rest of my life on a chair, depending on other people for everything: from changing clothes to getting into the bed, from having a bath to…Bema, I couldn't even take a piss without the help of a guard!".

The howling wind and the hoots of the owls did nothing to ease the atmosphere. Holdwyn nervously twiddled with her fingers, but just as she was about to excuse herself and call it a night, Éomer's deep voice stopped her: "I thought she would have been happier in Gondor. And I knew I wouldn't have been able to convince her of it".

 _Ah, the arrogance!_ "So you just run away, without even a word? Did you really think she wouldn't have tried to chase you?".

"I had left word. I had left two letters: one for her, one for her father".

"She didn't get any letter…".

"I know. She would have got it that evening, when coming to visit me. But that never happened...".

For every further word he said, she could feel anger simmering inside her, she could feel that the fact that she was speaking to her King was becoming less and less of a concern: "And what did you write in that letter, that would have made things any different?", she hissed back at him.

"That even though I loved her, a part of me thought her responsible for my predicament. That because of everything that had happened, I did not think she would be fit to be Queen of Rohan. At the same time, I wrote to her father that Lothíriel was not a welcome guest in Rohan anymore and asked him to ensure that she was to stay out of our borders".

She stared at him, mouth gaping: "How could you…and that's not what you told her that day!".

"No. Telling her such things wouldn't have worked. She would have seen right through my lies".

"And you think she wouldn't have seen right through them when reading your letter?".

"I don't know. But I had been explicit enough in my letter to Imrahil to trust he would have kept her from coming after me. I thought that with time, she would have eventually realized that I was not worth it, that she would have moved on with her life. When you two showed up that day, I was left with a choice: confessing the truth and go back to Edoras with her, or convincing her that I did not want to see her ever again".

"But you looked so angry, so…".

"I was angry, Holdwyn. I just needed her to believe I was angry _with_ her".

She brought her hands to her face, her head shaking: "Oh, my Lord. What did you do…".

"I know, Holdwyn. And rest assured that everybody has been very keen on reminding me: every day".

"Nobody knew?".

He snorted: "Who should I have told? Éothain? Elfhelm? Herubrand? Had I warned them of my true intentions, how long it would have taken until they would have defied my orders and sent word to Lothíriel?".

"They'd have done for your own good".

"I know. I just thought I knew better…".

She searched his dark eyes: "Do you still?".

"Do I still what?".

"Do you still think that you know better? If you had the chance of going back to that day, when you did not know yet that you could recover, would you do the same? Would you tell her the same?".

He shook his head, his voice bitter: "No, Holdwyn. If I had the chance of going back, I'd try to build a beautifully imperfect future with her, instead of destroying it".

She took a stick from the ground and threw it pensively into the fire: "What happened then? When you got back to Edoras…".

"What had to be expected. Half of the people pitied me, silently wondering how was I to lead Rohan from my bedroom. The other half despised me for what had happened with Lothíriel. Needless to say: this latest half accounted for the whole Meduseld".

She gave him a watery smile: "Birthwyn?".

"Among the others, yes. I delegated most of my duties to Erkenbrand and the Council and spent my days locked in my apartments, wondering how was I to move forward. Then one day, out of the blue, Éothain came to inform me we had a visitor. A few minutes later, a hooded figure entered my bedroom, completely unmoved by my attempts of having him kicked out of my room".

"Lady Irviniel mentioned something about an elven healer…".

"Yes: Aerandir, in all his pointed-ears' hubris".

"Did he give you a potion or something of the sort?".

"Ah, no. That would have been easy. Sure enough he stuffed me with virtually any infusion he had brought with him, but most of what he did was…I don't know how to explain it, it's like he awakened my legs: he spent days massaging them, stretching them, twisting them in ways I thought they would have just broken. Until one day, while he worked on my feet, I started to feel something. Just a tingling at first, almost imperceptible. Little I knew that my ordeal had just started…".

"Was it painful?".

"Awfully painful. But the pain kept me going, day after day".

"But why, why didn't you say anything back then?".

"We didn't know whether I'd have been able to make a full recovery. Therefore, I asked Aerandir not to tell anybody about what he was doing. Some people surely guessed, but I didn't want them to believe in a miraculous healing, when we ourselves were not sure about the effectivity of the therapy. So I waited, and when the moment came, I asked Aerandir to cover up for me, to give me a couple of days of advantage on my Guard".

"You rode away without warning anybody?".

"You know Éothain: he would have thrown another of his _you are a King with no heir_ tantrum, and I'd have ended up riding with a dozen guards in tow. And I didn't want to show up here, great fanfare and everything. I only wanted to speak with Lothíriel, to beg her to forgive me, to tell her that I love her, that I could never possibly hate her…".

"But it wasn't enough".

"No. It wasn't".

* * *

Éomer stared at his hands, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

He had lost her. Lothíriel was gone and there was nobody to blame for it, if not himself.

"How was she?".

Holdwyn's voice was so low, a whisper almost, that for a moment he wondered whether she had really spoken. She was hugging her knees to her chest, tears silently rolling down her cheeks, eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

He raised his eyes to the stars above them, thinking back of that day at the tower: "When she saw me there, she thought I was not real, like she was having some sort of vision".

Using the hem of her gown, Holdwyn tried to wipe off the tears from her cheeks: "We should have told her that you would have been there, but there was no time for explanations: we barely managed to have her on her way before Lady Irviniel woke up. We ushered her out and then…we knew she had been taking a potion to sleep at night, but we hadn't realized that…oh my Lord, we found so much of it hidden in her room. I don't even know where she managed to get it from. Lady Irviniel had been keeping a close eye on everything the healer gave her, and he never gave her that much…".

" _I need potions to numb my senses at day and to sleep at night"._

Holdwyn lifted her head, sobbing: "What?".

"Just…something she told me…".

She covered her face with her hands, her head shaking: "I…I should have realized something was amiss, I should have never sent her out, I sh…".

He stood up, quickly covered the distance between them and sat next to her: one arm around her shoulders, he pulled her to him and waited until her muffled sobs had waned. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault".

"I was so scared about sending her out. I only agreed because the whole area is too well-guarded for anything to happen. But now…now she can be anywhere!".

 _I know too damned well, Holdwyn._

After she had left him, he had spent hours staring at the point behind which she had disappeared. More than once, the wish to rush after her had almost overwhelmed him. But he knew there were no more words he could tell, no more words she wished to hear, that would have changed things.

The moment he had lied to her, the moment he taken upon himself to decide in her stead, he had broken that invisible thread of trust that had kept them together in spite of everything: she hadn't doubted him when Aefre had been putting her best efforts to break them apart. She hadn't doubted him when her father had put to test their feelings. She hadn't doubted him when she had realized he would have been a cripple for the rest of his days.

They had gone through so much. And it had taken only a bunch of minutes and a few words, to ruin everything for good.

He did not regret having come all the way to Lebennin. He did not regret having plotted with Lady Lamhel. She had to know: she had to know that he loved her and she had to know that she had done nothing wrong.

But he could not force her to forgive him, he could not force her to keep listening to his excuses.

He had hoped his words would have made her wish again for a future together. But if all they could do, was to make her wish for an altogether different type of future, one where _he_ was not part of the picture, one where she could be happy again, then he had to respect her decision.

He had to trust that she knew what was better for herself.

"Holdwyn?".

"Yes?".

"She was…fine, I think. When she left me, she was…better".

She straightened up and frowned at him: "Better?".

"Yes. At first, when she realized I was really there and she was not having a hallucination, she got completely mad. She threw me a dozen stones and almost knocked me out. But then she calmed down and I told her what she deserved to know. And sure, she was angry, upset, disappointed. But she also seemed…clearheaded".

"Clearheaded?", Holdwyn echoed him, like that word was somehow undecipherable in that context.

"Yes. She was calm, cool: she told me that she could not trust me not to do the same mistakes again. She told me that she did not wish to hear anything else, that she wished to go back to her aunt and that she did not want me to interfere with her decision. I thought she wouldn't have agreed on keeping Sparkler with her, but when she saw him, she just smiled. A real smile".

Holdwyn stared at him with wide eyes: "Really?"

"Yes. She hugged him, told him something in Sindarin, and before I could even realize it, she was in the saddle".

Holdwyn turned back towards the fire, the corners of her mouth twitching: "They have always had a special bond, those two. If anything, I'm glad he's with her".

"Me too, Holdwyn".

They kept silent for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, each trying to imagine where Lothiriel could be, what she would be doing, how she would be feeling.

"Do you think she will ever come back, my Lord?".

He took her hand and gently squeezed it: "I hope so, Holdwyn. I hope so".

* * *

The memories of that autumn got indelibly branded in the mind of many of the people who had wandered through its unusally warm days.

There was a father, restlessly pacing the halls of his palace, sending out one group of scouts after the other, looking every day at the sun carelessly setting over the sea, oblivious to his pain, his anguish.

There were brothers, frantically riding across the fruitful planes of their land. Impatience and urgency staining their voices as they interrogated innkeepers and peasants, wanderers and travellers. Anger and fear staining their hearts as days slipped through their fingers, their hopes getting thinner.

There was a young mother, looking for the strength to wear her old name, to be in her old places, while being a different, hopefully better person. And finding that strength where she least expected to, in the soft bundle in her arms, in his lively eyes and senseless gurgles, in his toothless smiles and chubby arms.

There was a blonde maid, fighting through days of swinging moods: worries and happiness, guilt and hopes, mingled in her heart. Her eyes were often caught by the endless planes in front of her city, as if a galloping chestnut and a light rider could materialize there by the sheer power of her imagination.

There was a King on a grey stallion, determined not to waste any more chances in his life, determined not to waste his future, nor the lessons of the past. Floating between yesterday and tomorrow, he lead his country on a path of prosperity, and himself on one of redemption.

And then there was a young woman, a remote village, a colourful encampment. Her arms were tired, her steps quick as she navigated through the loud crowd. Long raven hair and a tiny little scar on her head, witness of a past that could never be forgotten.

A stout woman rose from her chair: "Asgarel! Asgarel!", she called her.

"On my way!", the young woman answered, already vanishing in the cheers and excitement of a blissful, cold winter night.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** here we are with another chapter! I must say I'm myself surprised I'm managing to update on a weekly basis or so!

I think I changed my mind at least a million times about this chapter: I knew where I wanted to go but wasn't sure how to get there. In the end, it felt right to give Lothíriel a break. At the same time, I wanted to give a bit more space to Éomer, so that his side of the story could be cleared up a bit. I know there wasn't too much action in this chapter, bit it was needed to set in motion the next part of the story!

 _Doria Nell:_ I guess she's a bit of all of them (proud, realistic, strong). And yes: the slap was more than deserved. Now that you make me think about it, I think it's like the third of the story: Walda got one, then Éomer, now Lothíriel…seems like I have a soft spot for them! :D As per Éomer, I hadn't planned for him to be back so soon but, as I said, I decided to accelerate things a bit. I'm glad I managed to convey that while he should have never behaved that way, it hasn't been easy for him as well. Hopefully, this chapter shed a bit of more light into his reasons and the fact that he knows he was wrong (recovery or not). Also, I must say I'm quite excited about the next few chapters and the adventure she is getting into! Let's hope we will all have some fun!

 _silverswath:_ I guess I saw it coming that the chapter was a bit messy. It was at least partially intended, but I'm quite sure I could have handled it better. Hopefully this one managed to clear things up and was more therefore more enjoyable!

 _Cricket22_ : glad I didn't make you wait for too long and utterly pleased by the excitement for the _unknown direction_. It kind of works the same way when I plan/write a chapter: I think about going from A to B in a straight line and up circling the globe instead (twice sometimes). But it's one great adventure and it's awesome that somebody is sharing the fun with me!

 _Catspector:_ Lamhel and Holdwyn surely took a risk, but hopefully it will pay back! Yes, that's really the whole thing about Éomer: he wishes to control everything and can't accept failure as part of the plan. And in doing so, even if with good intentions, he makes both his life and the ones of those he loves miserable. It's what made him the _grumpy King_ at the beginning of this story, it's what had him doubting about being worth of Lothíriel during their courtship. It's kind of: either I will have it perfect, or I won't have it at all. Problem is: life rarely works that way. I was very keen on getting Sparkler back to her: Gamling chose him for her, they bonded very quickly, he protected her fiercely from Aefre and carried her during her ride in the desert. And between being reunited with him and learning the truth from Éomer (and well: a few coins are always a good help!), I hope there is enough to re-kindle Lothíriel's sparkle!

 _Menelwen:_ the whole _heal by the love for herself_ was just what I wanted to highlight. Éomer struck her in the worse way, mining her self-confidence and having her doubting about her biggest qualities: intelligence, resourcefulness, resilience. Confessing the truth was a first step to help her healing, but restoring one's self-confidence is not a team work. Especially if you are the reason it was destroyed in the first place. Sure, Lothíriel could have gone back to Irviniel, but I think she is simply fed up with people taking decisions for her, including her aunt. After all she went through, I think it's understandable that she wants to be "selfish" and just do what she feels up to, care for herself away from Éomer, her family and her friends. I do firmly believe that taking on an adventure on your own it's a scary, difficult, cathartic, marvellous thing that anybody should try at least once in her/his life. And yes: blessed Lamhel who almost broke her neck climbing a tree up AND down! :D

 _heckofabecca:_ me neither, but she was a bit out of her mind. Rationality is normally thrown down into the sewers in such cases! In Lamhel (and Holdwyn)'s defence, in my mind Lothíriel was never really endangered. As I tried to explain in this chapter, I imagined the area to be simply too well guarded for anything to happen. Plus, they had planned to send guards after her in any case in a few hours. Sure, there is always a bit of a residual risk, but they had to decide whether it was worth taking it or not. As per how could Éomer let her go, you share your doubts with Holdwyn and Irviniel! Hopefully he managed to partially answer your question by the end of this chapter. With respect to the _helpless individuals_ , I believe a lot of times, when someone is going through very tough times, it's easy for people around them to do wrong while meaning well. Well, communication definitely hasn't been Éomer's strong suit so far and I share your husband's mantra: when you are two, you face things in two. You don't just shut the other away. Lastly: Lamhel can be silly, but I think she has a point here. Lothíriel might have to face ups and downs, but I'd be more optimistic about what she's getting herself into!

 _Little Mariechen:_ thought so! :D Makes me really, REALLY happy to hear that I managed to write something different and not just another sugar coated reunion. I like this Lothíriel too much to have her falling for the first man kneeling for her (even if that man is Éomer). So: off we go with another adventure!

 _Lauren:_ thank you, I'm glad you like this characterization! I'm afraid Éomer is not following Lothíriel, and I must say I think he is quite right at that. By all means, she is not running away from her addiction, wouldn't even be possible. She is just running away from a past and a future which do not fit her. In Italian we say _andare stretto_ , literally to fit too small, too tight. That's how she feels with the opportunities she is presented, and so she searches for new ones!

 _Wanderlust_ : we'll see how it goes… The next chapter will tell us more about Lothíriel, and this one should have made clear that even though Éomer has let her go, he hasn't done it because he feels things are over between them (not from his side as well) and he keeps a bit of foolish hope alive, like any person in love would do.

 _Rho67:_ makes my day to hear that her choice is being so well received. He behaved completely out of turn and deserved it all. Next chapter we will get to see where our Princess is and what she's being up to!


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

 _Gondor, February the 20_ _th_ _, 3021_

It was a freezing morning: the grass was covered by a thin layer of frost and their breaths were clearly visible, white clouds of vapour in an otherwise still environment.

The sun hadn't risen yet but the sky was already bright and clear. The ice cracked under Sparkler's hoofs as he lazily walked around, grazing on the grass and stretching his legs. The faint sounds of the awakening village echoed around, but the encampment was still completely silent, its people asleep after a long night of work. She was the only one already up and around but then, it had always been like that: she was the last one to retire and the first one to get up.

Coming across that errant madness, had been an enormous stroke of luck.

 _Three months and a half._ Sometimes, she could not quite believe that already so much time had passed since the day she had decided to leave everything behind, to stop being Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth in favour of…well, nobody, really. Just another woman, another Gondorian, another commoner living for today.

She wasn't even sure how she had come up with that name: Asgarel. But that was who she was now, and she never regretted her choice.

 _Now, who do you want to fool?_

No, she did regret her choice, a lot. But only during the first two weeks.

Running away, had been like standing at the top of a high cliff, staring down into the blue waters, your senses sharpened with anticipation and excitement. And then you jump, fear leaves place to exhilaration, until you realize the water is cold, the current strong. You are left gasping for air, struggling to resurface and to find the strength to swim to the next shore. And when you finally manage to have your feet on solid ground again, all you can do is staring back at the cliff, feeling invincible and absolutely foolish at the same time for having done something so senseless.

Yes, that was how it had been.

After the jump, it hadn't taken long for the cold water to shock her. Only a few hours, really. After having pushed Sparkler at the fastest possible pace on the uneven ground of the forest, willing to put as much distance as possible between her and her aunt's guards, she had eventually been forced to stop and camp for the night. She hadn't even tried to make a fire: she wouldn't have known where to start from. Instead, she had sought shelter in a small cave, wrapped herself in the only blanket she had -Sparkler's one, and lied exhausted on the hard ground.

Hours of intense ceiling-staring had followed, in which she had cursed herself more than once for not having thought that she had no potion with her.

At some point in the middle of the night, startled by the umpteenth eerie sound of the forest, she had seriously considered the idea of saddling Sparkler and rushing back to her aunt. She could have said that she got lost, she could have apologized and eventually she would have been able to retire to her room.

She could say that she had been stronger than that, that in the end her wish for freedom had won over the need for her potion. But that also, would be a lie. No, she had simply found a better solution: one which involved coins and the herbalist of the first village she had come across on the following morning. She had also bought some food from a local farm, thick blankets from an old lady with too few teeth and too many wrinkles to be anywhere younger than ninety years old, and a warm cloak and a plain but sharp dagger from a family of travellers.

Feeling a bit more confident, she had spent the following days moving at a good pace, keeping herself always far enough from the main roads and only visiting villages when strictly necessary. Apart from one night, when a downpour of rain had left her with no other choice, she had never slept in an inn, the concern that she might have been easily found feeding her strength and her courage to camp in the wild, the unusually warm weather becoming an invaluable ally.

She had taken a lot of risks, she knew. She could have come across bandits, and her dagger would have hardly made any difference. She could have been attacked at night, and under the effects of the potion she wouldn't have been able to realize what was going on. But whether it had been faith or luck, nothing of the sort had ever happened, her addiction and the demons of her past the only true enemies to battle every day.

She had tried to keep moving North, towards less populated areas and less beaten roads, but many times she had lost her orientation, suddenly realizing she was riding towards the sun or away from it which, one way or the other, meant she wasn't going North. As she had finally come across the Serni river, she had decided to ride along its course, knowing it would have inevitably led her North.

And then one day, as the air was finally starting to get crisp, as the worries about the upcoming winter were starting to cloud her mind, she had seen it. An encampment, placidly set on the wet grass between the river and a secondary road. There were tents and carriages, horses and even some goats. Not a soldiers' camp. But also not a merchants' one. She had observed it from behind a bush, trying to assess whether she could approach it and maybe buy some food for the way, when a raspy voice had made her jump out of her skin and turn around with the dagger already in her hand. An old man, with a long white beard and a black patch to cover an empty eye socket had looked back at her, incredulous, before roaring in a loud laughter and almost toppling in the mud.

Three months later, her eyes were still looking at the same encampment. The river wasn't the Serni anymore, but the Gilrain. The plains had left space to a landscape of gentle rolling hills. They were much more North than a few weeks before, and winter had finally caught up with them.

Never in her life had she thought that she might have ended up joining an errant company of actors, minstrels, jugglers and acrobats. But no matter what trick of fate had made their paths cross together, she couldn't be more happy about it.

Disguised in that unlikely big family, a new name to forget who she was, the worries of dangerous encounters and upcoming seasonal changes forgotten, she had found a new, improbable home for herself.

 _The Gouldir's Crew._ That's how they called themselves as they travelled from village to village, entertaining people with plays and shows for _one unforgettable night_. At least that was how they advertised the whole circus.

It wasn't an easy life and only somebody with the right pinch of foolishness could think about joining such group. But she had way more than just a pinch of it, and so that place was simply perfect for her. She wasn't a talented actress, nor a singer or a dancer, but a pair of extra hands which did not shirk from hard chores was always welcomed. Serving ale during the shows, helping with cooking, washing the colourful tunics of the acrobats in the freezing waters of the river, tending to the animals, packing and unpacking their equipment…she was never short of things to do. Her hands had bled during the first weeks, but they were now growing stronger -or, better said: more calloused.

In those few rare moments of respite, she had even found the time to learn a bit of the trade of that marvellous, enlarged family. The first time she had tried to juggle, she had inevitably ended up with an apple splashed on her nose. Now, she was able to handle four of them -well, most of the times, at least.

Every evening she would retire feeling bone tired, every single muscle of her body aching and screaming for some mercy. It was a glorious feeling, to be physically exhausted. And while she still needed her infusion to sleep, she wasn't sipping it at day anymore, for she had way too much to do to worry about everything she had left behind.

A hoarse voice rose from the camp, followed by an unmistakable fit of cough: "Asgarel! Come here, girl!".

She smiled to herself as she quickly dismounted and left Sparkler free to roam for a while longer. She moved silently between the tents, mindful not to wake up their sleeping occupants: "I am here, Túrel".

* * *

Asgarel squeezed herself between Ruiel and Naron, a bowl of warm soup in one hand, a slice of bread in the other, the skin of her face already relishing in the heat being radiated by the fire.

On her right, Ruiel greeted her with a quick nod before turning her attention back to the lively flames. A woman in her early thirties, she spoke rarely, smiled even less and whenever they were hosting a play, she kept herself always at a safe distance from the crowd, looking at the crush of laughing people with wary eyes. But she was kind, gentle and a tireless worker, like a little laborious ant: you barely noticed her, but her contribution is invaluable.

On her left, Naron smiled broadly at her. He was her closest in age, just one year younger than herself. Tall and with a head of unruly black curls, he was the exact opposite of Ruiel: chatty and smiley, he would often entertain the group with impressions and jokes. Just the week before, he had launched himself in a hilarious imitation of Túrel, leaving them breathlessly laughing on the floor and Túrel trying to handle her mirth between one cough and the other, until her face had turned such a shade of red that they had started to worry.

She dipped the bread into the soup, her mouth watering at the sight of a few pieces of chicken floating in the broth.

"Why do I have a feeling that you always get the best part of the soup? Hey, cook, what does a poor man have to do to get in your good graces? Would it help, were I to wear a skirt?".

The group erupted in laughter and though she could not see him, the voice of the cook rose loud and clear: "Nobody is interested in your skinny legs, Naron. They wouldn't even make for a good soup".

She almost sputtered a spoonful of soup, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes as she tried to laugh without chocking on her lunch.

"I'll have you know I have gorgeous legs! Long and slender, unlike this one!".

"Are you calling me fat, Naron?".

"No", he said, turning towards her and giving her his most charming smile, "Just short!".

She snorted as she chewed on a piece of chicken: "You are as tall as arrogant and you should not underestimate us small people".

"Well said, Asgarel", Gordir said, coming unsurprisingly to her support. Leader and choreographer of their small group of acrobats, he was at least five inches shorter than her. Though that was hardly the most blatant difference between them: indeed, she was rather sure that both him and his comrades were missing at least a few bones, muscles and tendons, for otherwise she could not explain how they could possibly fold their bodies in such twisted ways. "Plus, remember that Asgarel has quite the talent when it comes to daggers. I'd watch my mouth if I were you, least you'll find a knife between your eyes".

Somebody whistled and cheered in approval and before Naron could come up with an answer, Devedir's unmistakable voice rose: "Say, Asgarel. Are you just as good with swords as well, or does your talent end with daggers?".

When they had unexpectedly met each other in the bushes surrounding the encampment, she had thought him some sort of bandit, or a jailbird, or maybe even a pirate. But no matter the patch on his eye, he was most definitely not a corsair. As per the bandit and jailbird, she couldn't honestly be sure. Only thing she knew was that despite the age and the fact that he was drunk most of the times, he was incredibly agile with a sword in his hand. His eye would always attentively scan the crowd attending their plays, looking for omens of possible brawls and scuffles. And if he did see one, then you could be sure that somebody would have ended up with his face in the mud before even managing to raise his fist.

"I'm afraid no, Devedir. I've never even tried to wield a sword".

"Ah, but that's something we easily fix! Come, Asgarel".

The group made them space by the side of the fire and Devedir unbuckled the belt from which his sword was hanging: "Would you like to try this one?", he asked, his eyes clearly pointing at his own blade.

"Sure", she answered without thinking, her hand already reaching for the pommel.

But he lifted it above his head and out of her reach, yellow teeth looking down at her as he already laughed: "It's more likely that this sword will wield you rather than the other way around, you bony thing!".

During her first days there, she had spent most of her time blushing at the unmerciful teasing of that crazy bunch of unlikely individuals. Now, she was getting used to it.

"Gordir, give me your sword".

As the small acrobat passed him his blade, Devedir turned back towards her: "Be careful the weapon you chose, Asgarel. It could make the difference between life and death. A too long sword would hinder your steps, a too heavy one would tire you and slow your movements".

She took the sword and closed her fingers around its pommel.

"How does it feel?".

"Good, I guess?".

"Excellent. Now ready for some parrying lesson?".

At first, she limited herself to following Devedir's lead, doing almost mechanically what he was telling her to do. Parry. Parry again. Dodge. Parry. Step back. And again.

Why hadn't she ever tried it before? That was actually fun!

She felt her confidence growing as the rhythm of their movements increased, as yet another blow was parried while the next one was already coming along. She dared moving beyond what she was told to and that earned her some cheers from the crowd.

 _I like this!_ was the last thing she managed to think, before her self-confidence betrayed her: she moved her feet too early, her balance lost as her heel stumbled on a stone and before she could even realize what was happening, she had ended up with her rear in the slimy sludge.

The chorus of laughter became almost deafening and she stared at the open hand in front of her: "Don't despair, Asgarel. A bit of regular practice and you'll manage to stick your enemy with the pointy end".

* * *

The villagers had already left their encampment and gone back to their houses, most of the acrobats and actors had already retired to their cots.

A melancholic tune filled the stiff air, the smell of too much ale permeating everything inside the tent. She passed by a small group of people, intent on listening their minstrel's last composition, a ballad about the sea and a long-lost love. The rhymes were predictable, the words trite at best. But the melody was good, intense and powerful, one of those that doesn't need words to convey feelings and emotions, for it spoke in the universal language of music.

They called her, already making space for her, but she waved her hand and declined, taking instead a seat next to one of the empty fire pits, aside from the rest of the people. Pulling out of her pocket a set of needles, she patiently started to patch the tear in the costume of one of their actors: she had never been good with knitting, but such easy fixes she could easily handle.

It was unbelievable the amount of work that went behind each of their plays. From rehearsals to costumes, from make-up to hair styling, from writing to timing, from promoting their shows to planning their next stop, the whole group was like a giant living thing. Some of them had very defined roles. Others, like her, worked to fill up any gap and ensure another successful night. It was exhausting but terribly rewarding at the same time.

"If Cillon doesn't lose some weight, you'll just keep re-patching over and over that tear". Naron sat next to her and offered her a small mug of ale.

Satisfied with her work, she folded the trousers aside and gladly accepted the drink: "Cillon and _losing weight_ together in one sentence: sounds quite the oxymoron".

"The what?".

"Oxymoron".

"Oxy…?".

" N!".

Naron chuckled and shook his head: "How do you always come up with such weird words?".

During her first days with the Gouldir's Crew, she had bitten her tongue more than once, trying not to give away anything that could make them suspect that she wasn't who she claimed to be. But truth was, nobody there was. And nobody cared who they used to be before joining the crew.

"It's not weird. It's a figure of speech, like saying...mmh", she sipped the ale and scratched her chin, "like saying _deafening silence_ , or _disgustingly delicious_ ".

" _Disgustingly delicious_ …I see…so, would _cold fire_ be an oxymor as well?".

She bit her lip and tried to hide a smile: "Oxymoron. And yes, _cold fire_ would do".

" _Honest thief_?".

"Yes".

" _Run slowly_?".

"I think you got the idea…".

" _Painfully beautiful_?".

Before she even had the time to register the meaning of his words, she found his lips pressed against hers, his breath warm on her face, his hand gently cupping her cheek. She froze, her eyes wide, her fingers closing almost painfully around the mug, unable to process what was happening. Maybe he took it as an encouragement, for she felt his tongue probing her lips, his other hand almost timidly touching her waist.

Fragments of a distant memory flashed in her mind. A full moon. A whispered name. Strong arms lifting her on the sill. Possessive hands grabbing her hips. Lips that tasted of wine.

She snapped up from the log, gasping, the ale spilling on Naron's tunic, the mug loudly clattering on the ground.

"Asgarel…".

He tried to stand up but she pushed on his chest with all the strength she had, causing him to fall back on the log: "Don't you ever dare!", she shrieked.

The tent became suddenly quiet: silent were the strings of the lute, faded the voice of its minstrel, dimmed the murmurs of the people enjoying that last hushed stretch of an otherwise loud night.

All the eyes were on her.

Naron's eyes were on her, stupor mingling with hurt.

Unable to keep up with their glares, with his glare, she turned and hurried out of the tent and into the freezing night. Only a few torches enlightened the camp and she almost stumbled a couple of times before eventually finding the tent she had been sharing with Ruiel. She sneaked in, closed the flap and sat in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest and trying to calm down the furious beating of her heart, the frantic rhythm of her breath.

Why? Why had Naron kissed her? Why had _he_ resurfaced through her memories? Why did she have to react like that?

Her arm extended in the dark, blindly feeling for her satchel. But the moment her fingers touched the familiar leather strap, the flap opened again, the unmistakably imposing profile of Túrel forcing her way in. She pushed her hand away, tossed the pouch behind her and clumsily sat opposite to her, the tent feeling suddenly very, very small.

"Are you ok, girl?".

 _No._ "Yes".

Silence.

"He meant well. Naron, I mean: he meant well".

 _It doesn't matter._ "I know".

Silence.

"You still love him, don't you?".

 _Who?_ "Who?".

"The man you are running away from".

 _I don't know_. "No! And I'm not running…".

Túrel roared in her usual half laughter-half cough: "Of course you are, my dear", she leant with her elbows on her knees and got closer to her, her honey-smelling breath making her guts turning, "we _all_ are!".

"We are all running?".

"You may bet on it! Who do you take us for? Devedir? A hired assassin who failed his mission, got caught and sold the man who hired him to save himself from the gallows. He should have been left rotting in a dungeon for the rest of his days, but he found his way out instead, a fugitive with both guards and mercenaries on his heels".

"Ruiel? Sold by her family like a piece of meat to a man who found every day another reason to beat her senseless. She fled their house when he was called to war and never went back, she doesn't even know whether he's alive or not. Hopefully not".

"Gordir? He used to perform for the highest nobles of all Gondor. Until he took a roll in the hay with the wrong woman. The day he shows his face in Minas Tirith, he's as good as dead".

"Naron? A bastard, his father a minor noble, his mother a maid. He spent his whole childhood looking up at a father who despised him and treated him like a slave. Only when his mother died, did he find the strength to run off".

Asgarel felt a lump in her throat and hugged her knees even closer: "And what about Túrel?".

"Ah, Túrel you ask? She is the worst of all! Spent fifteen years of her life working in brothels across Gondor. Wasted all she earned in alcohol and smoke and abandoned three infants on the way, without even feeling a bit of remorse, a bit of guilt for her miserable life".

She raised her head and stared at the dark profile of the stout woman in front of her: "You were a prostitute?".

"Ah", she tried to speak as another fit of cough shook her, "that was hardly the worse part of it".

"How did you become one?".

"The same like any other woman, child. I was alone, had nobody to care for me, could not find a job but still needed to eat at the end of the day. Soaking my mind in spirits or anything I could put my hands on, was the only way I had to get through it. But I think you can understand that part better than the most, don't you?".

"Yes", she admitted in a whisper.

"What is it?".

"A sleeping potion. A strong one".

"Ah yes, I tried them a few times. Marvellous things, but way too expensive for the pockets of a whore".

"I-I don't drink it at day. Not anymore. But I can't sleep without it…".

"And if you can't sleep, then your mind keeps running…".

"Yes".

Túrel reached with her arm behind her and threw the satchel towards her: "That's poison, Asgarel. But I'm hardly the one who can lecture or give you lessons here".

She wanted to yell her that it wasn't that bad, that she could go without it if she wanted. But she wouldn't have fooled anybody: not Túrel, nor herself. So she just reached for it and carefully stored it next to her, reassured by the knowledge that she would be free to chew on a couple of leaves before succumbing to a deep, dreamless sleep.

"So, who is he? What did he do to have you running away?".

She wrapped a woollen blanket around her shoulders and sighed: "He lied to me. Took decisions and liberties he shouldn't have taken. Broke my heart. Broke…me".

"He cheated on you with other women?".

"No! No, he would have never done such thing. He…he was injured during the war and thought himself not deserving, thought I would have been happier without him. So he deceived me, blamed me for what had happened to him, told me he hated me and that he didn't want to see me ever again".

The tent was dark, but she could feel Túrel looking at her with a deep frown: "How in all Arda could you be responsible of a war injury?".

She sighed: "It's a long story, Túrel. One I'm not willing to tell".

"Alright. What then?".

"I believed him".

"That's how you started with the potion?".

"Yes".

Túrel pulled Ruiel's blanket from under her bottom and used it to cover their legs: "If you know he had been lying, I suppose he some when confessed the truth".

"Yes. He unexpectedly managed to recover from his injury and came back to me. My family tried to keep him away, tried to hide the truth from me, but they failed".

"So you run away from both".

"So I run away from both, yes".

During her first two weeks on the run, she had spent entire days and entire nights thinking about it. But she had never spoken aloud about it and now that she had done it, she couldn't help but feeling like a spoilt, silly Princess, who knew nothing of the world.

Devedir was an assassin. One who wouldn't hesitate to _stick you with the pointy end_ for a pouch of coins. Like the one who had tried to kill her. No more, no less. Ruiel had probably spent years being abused by a man she was forced to marry, a man who had no love, no respect, no consideration for her. Naron had grown up trying to desperately gain the love of a father who cared nothing for him. Túrel had found herself forced to sell her body in order to survive, falling into an abyss of alcoholism and desperation, selfishness and malice.

She felt so small, so insignificant: "It doesn't sound like much. Not after…".

"Not after our stories? Hush, Asgarel. We are not competing on who had it worse, who touched the lowest point, who did the most awful things. What your man did was enough to have you running away, forsaking your name and your family and joining this group of stray dogs".

"You are not stray dogs…".

"I call things for what they are, Asgarel. And we are stray dogs. Villagers fill our tent during a play, clap their hands and cheer for us, but don't be mistaken: in the bright light of the day, they will want to have nothing to do with the like of us. They consider us the scum of society, and right they are".

"That's not true!".

"It is. Some are less scum than others, but in the end we are all but a bunch of cowards who preferred running away from their problems and living a life on the path, rather than facing them, rather than building a new life somewhere else".

She felt her cheeks growing heated: "How can you say that? You are a family, you care for each other, you…".

"Of course we are. And mind you: we are way better than many families out there, for ours is not an obvious life. We chose and re-choose it every day, we give nothing for granted and we are ready for everything. Would Ruiel's husband show up here and try to snap her away against her will, we would have no problem whatsoever at chopping him into small pieces and feed him to the hogs. Same goes for Naron's father. Or for your lying bastard. But that's not the point".

"And what is it?".

"You chose to run away. You chose to be part of our family. To us, nothing else matter. There are some of us for whom it's too late to start growing something again: Devedir and myself are too old, our past too heavy. Ruiel lacks the strength to do it, her scars run too deep. People like Gordir simply don't care. But you are unlike us, Asgarel. You are young, you are strong, you care. And so is Naron. He is a good man and he'd make you happy. He'd love you above anything else, he'd cherish you like you were the biggest treasure in all Arda, he'd never betray your trust, he'd never lie. Such things can't be forced, nobody can coerce you into having feelings for him. But think about it, Asgarel: is it worth to forsake happiness in the name of the man you left behind?".

She bit her lip and let tears running down her cheeks, too many faces and memories mixing in her mind to be able to form a coherent answer.

"Take your potion if you have to. Sleep over it. But whatever you decide, go to Naron tomorrow. He has spent his whole life trying to win the approval, a caress, a kind word from a father who just kept rejecting and defying him…".

"I didn't mean to hurt him, Túrel. I just…I didn't expect…".

"He has been in love with you since the moment you walked into the camp, with Devedir pretending to escort you when in reality he was so drunk that you were almost carrying him".

She sighed and shook her head: "I never realized…".

"Course you didn't. Because you still love that scoundrel, because no other man exists for you. The question is: do you want him to keep hurting you? Do you want to keep suffering in the name of somebody who is worth nothing?".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** so, now we know what our Princess has been up to for the past three months and how did she manage to get through. Luck, coins and merciful weather at first. The help of an unlikely company then.

I had thought about a lot different scenarios as to where she could go, what she could do. The inspiration for an errant company came a bit unexpected but I liked it a lot, for it allowed to introduce a variety of personalities and stories that would otherwise be hard to find all together. Personalities that can push Lothíriel to see the world from a different perspective, to come in touch with realities and stories she could have hardly imagined before. At the same time, from a "strategic" point of view, joining the crew it's a sensitive choice: she has shelter, protection, and she is constantly on the move, making it virtually impossible for her family to find her.

In a way, she is faring better. On the other hand, a small unexpected event was enough to shake her. And of course, she could not have possibly got rid of her addiction in such short time and under those circumstances. I know Túrel's choice to just give her back the potion might look weird (and her words strong), but to me it's in line with the type of person she is, with her story. Ultimately, she means well. Question is, whether her idea of _well_ matches Lothíriel's one (and possibly ours?).

 _Cricket22:_ as I re-read the chapter, I realized myself I was writing again about things which had already been explained in the previous one. I probably should have played chapter 26 a bit differently and leave more things to be explained in here. Alas, it was already posted and could not do it. I suppose it's the down side of posting chapters while I am still in the process of writing the story! That being said, I felt the need of a quiet chapter before jumping into this part of the story. Last three chapters were intense and all ending with a cliff-hanger, so it felt right to relax for a moment. With respect to the reunion with Walda, I think I'll write about it but in a different format. With the end of the story slowly coming over the horizon, I just could not find a place for it in here. But I like the characters that came out of this story, from Lothíriel to Éomer, and of course Holdwyn and Walda. So I was actually thinking of collecting some one-shots in a separate story and to post them as they come… As per what is Lothíriel's doing, now you have your answer. I think working actually gave her a break from thinking too much and don't worry, I'm not planning to have her little adventure to go on for too long. Just as much as needed…;)

 _Ireumimwoyeyo_ : glad you liked the ending! Wanted to write something and I thought it was a nice way to wrap up loose end from different characters. Hopefully this chapter wasn't too much to bear!

 _Rogue's Queen_ : not sure whether this satisfied your curiosity :D

 _Catspector:_ yes, I agree. Holdwyn was a bit in a pessimistic mood while Lamhel was being too superficial. Happy you liked the dialogue: wasn't an easy one to write but I really wanted to make clear that Éomer isn't just regretting what he did because he recovered the use of his legs. He understands he messed it up and that he should not have acted like he did. Paying such high price will hopefully make the lesson unforgettable! Well, her choice was for sure a bit selfish and I think she will come to realize it sooner or later! ;)

 _Menelwen_ : I don't think Lady Irviniel would have a proper jail. Let's just say she locked him up in her cellar and only released him because she knows you can't just do that, especially to a King. As per how and if they will be back together, I suppose you will have to stay tuned! All I can say is that the story will move at a good pace and not too many chapters are left! Greetings from the Swiss summer and from an office which is more like a greenhouse than anything else…yes: I envy your winter! :D

 _Wondereye:_ I don't think anybody can bring her back, apart from herself! ;)

 _No contest:_ you have a point. What I can say is that Lothíriel, coming already from difficult weeks in which Éomer had been avoiding her, was probably vulnerable enough to believe his words and be devastated by them. As for the others, I decided to focus more on those characters of the story whom, one way or the other, were on "Lothíriel's side". Either because they belong to her family or because they are close friends to her. As such, their primary concern is her. As per what had happened in Edoras, we only know those few things mentioned by Éomer, but that doesn't mean there weren't people concerned for him. Birthwyn herself tried to ask for an explanation and have Éomer reconsidering what he did (and she wasn't the only one for sure). But he chose to lock himself away, so that nobody could have suspicions about his true intentions. And in a way, such behavior has been a constant threat of him across the whole story, is the way he tends to respond to unexpected difficulties, the type of which he is not used to. Quite honestly, I think he messed it up and did something very wrong, but I also see the circumstances and the reasons he had, and I don't think is something unforgivable once you allow things to cool down. Eventually, others will see it too! ;)

 _Guest:_ I bet there are a lot of them. English is not my mother tongue and since I couldn't find any beta at the time I started publishing this story, I had to choose whether going forward no matter the mistakes or not. I honestly wanted to try sharing a story and so I did publish it despite all. In the future I will try again to get a beta, but being relatively new to the community I'm not sure how easy it will be.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

 _Gondor, March the 19_ _th_ _, 3021_

Annoyed by the constant chatter of the other girls, Asgarel looked for a quiet spot where she could finish peeling what looked like an outrageous amount of potatoes.

Being so close to Minas Tirith, made her nervous.

Days earlier, as Túrel and a few others were debating where they should head next, she had hoped they would change their mind: the village of Taminhir, even if relatively small, was dangerously close to the City of the Kings. More than that, it was nestled right on the road approaching the city from the South. Meaning the coast. Meaning Lebennin. Meaning Pelargir. Meaning Dol Amroth. Meaning a lot of unpleasant things.

Ever since they had arrived there, two days earlier, she had spent her time looking suspiciously around, a hood always covering her head. She had pleaded Túrel to give her only tasks that would keep her out of sight and even though she had consented without hesitation, she couldn't help but feeling constantly on edge.

Truth was, she felt restless. And not since just a few days: since weeks.

The night Naron had kissed her, after Túrel had left her tent, she had considered doing exactly what she had planned to: chewing on the herb's leaves and fall into oblivion. Instead, without even knowing why, she had pulled the blanket up to her nose and lied on her cot, staring into the dark as her mind went on a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts.

Hurt, anger, melancholy, nostalgia, sadness, had mingled together. But she had been surprised to find out that they were not overwhelming her, they were not leaving her gasping for air and looking for an escape.

Since then, she had often spent her nights that way, trying to keep as clean as possible from the infusion and thinking back of all that had happened, of all the people she had left behind. Asking herself what she was doing, where she was going. And the more she kept thinking, the more she realized that up to that point, it had not mattered: the journey itself had been her destination.

Ultimately, that's what Túrel had meant when she had said that they were all running. The _Goulding's Crew_ was an endless and aimless wandering through the world, without ever getting anywhere.

It had her thinking, but she had soon concluded that she did not have answers. Not yet. And until she knew where she wanted to go, _if_ she wanted to go anywhere at all, running with the crew would do.

Feeling more at ease with herself, the morning after she had sought out Naron, Túrel's word echoing inside her head.

 _…_ _you still love that scoundrel… do you want him to keep hurting you...do you want to keep suffering in the name of somebody who is worth nothing?_

She could have said many things to that.

She could have said that yes, she still loved him. But she hated him as well!

She could have said that no, she didn't want him to keep hurting her, she didn't want to suffer any longer.

But none of them had come to her mind, in that moment. Instead, she had found herself biting her tongue, for she had wanted to cry at the top of her lunges that it wasn't true, that she shouldn't speak of him so: he wasn't worth nothing. Éomer wasn't worth nothing!

The fact that _that_ , of all thoughts, had come to her mind, had made her feel angry, furious, livid. And so on her way to Naron's tent, she had decided that she could not lie to him, she could not tell him that she reciprocated his feelings when she didn't.

But what she could do, was trying to give a chance for things to change.

She had found Naron sitting in a corner of the main tent, his shoulders hanging, a bowl of untouched oatmeal in his hands. Her heart had tightened, and then rejoiced at the way his whole face had lightened when she had told him that she was at least willing to spend some time with him, that she wasn't rejecting him right away.

In the following days, they had made a habit of spending some time alone with each other.

No matter how sleepy he was, Naron would drag himself out of bed at first light, keeping her company while she exercised Sparkler on the icy grass surrounding their camp, laughing at their antics and asking an awful amount of questions about him: where did you get him from? Who trained him? Have you had him long? Why did you call him so?

On one bright morning, he had suggested riding together to the next village. He hadn't given her the time to answer, that his feet had already reached for the stirrup. Shortly after, he was flying in the mud. She had no idea why Sparkler had reacted that way, but deep inside her she was glad for it, for he had saved her the trouble of telling Naron that no, she didn't want to ride with him. At all.

Not satisfied with the lesson he had received, the following day Naron had insisted that she should have let him ride Sparkler, so that they could _get to know each other_. Her eyes had shifted from Naron to Sparkler, the message in his intelligent eyes loud and clear: _you let him come any closer, I bite off his fingers._

Faced with the failure of his rather goofy attempts at bonding with Sparkler, Naron had found other ways to spend time with her. He would occasionally join her while she was tending to the animals, walk her down to the river if she had to wash something, and after each play he would invite her to sit around one of the fires, while the rest of the people kept carefully away. It was as if the whole _Goulding's Crew_ was putting on a collective effort to have things working out between the two of them.

And _that_ , was just the last of a long list of things that were unnerving her.

In place number two of the list, was the fact that Naron was trying so hard.

He was nice, he was funny, he was smart. Sometimes, he would bring her a small bunch of flowers, claiming he had collected them from the nearby fields. Which, given the harsh cold they were in, was rather unlikely. He did his best at always having something to say, he never contradicted her, never disagreed with any of her ideas, not even when she knew he didn't like what she was suggesting. Given the story Túrel had told her, she could understand that maybe pleasing her every request was simply what came natural to him, was the way he thought he could win her approval and so her heart. And she felt sorry for it. Sorry, and terribly bored: there he was, an intelligent man with a ready wit, and yet she couldn't help but feeling annoyed.

In place number one, was the fact that she had hoped spending time with Naron would have helped her moving forward. Instead, she felt like going backwards.

A week earlier, Naron had invited her to dance. He had been there, a big smile on his face, his eyes shining with happiness. And as a lively, fast tune had filled the air, their feet moving fast, what had come to her mind? That he was shorter than Éomer. His shoulders not so broad. His scent completely different. His hands leaner. His eyes lighter. His eyebrows not so thick. His laugh not so deep.

After his first attempt at kissing her, Naron had never dared trying again. But from time to time, he would try holding her hand, putting a hand on her waist or clumsily hugging her. And each and every time, no matter how quick she was at retreating from that contact, memories were triggered, comparisons were laid out, the distance between her and Naron growing inexorably bigger.

After an initial rocky start, things with Éomer had always come so natural. Even when she still didn't know much about him, spending time with him had always come so easy. Whether they had matters to discuss or not, whether they were chatting or being silent, the hours spent together had always flown by so easily, so fast, his touch able at once to reassure and sparkle something deep inside her.

Why couldn't it be the same with Naron? Why couldn't she simply forget about Éomer? Why, as days passed by, longing and melancholy seemed to replace anger and hurt?

 _Damn!_ The knife fell from her hand as blood started to pour from a deep cut on her thumb.

"Asgarel, be careful!", Ruiel rushed to her side and tightened a cloth around her finger, applying pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Sorry, Ruiel. I was distracted…".

"I know, Asgarel. Why don't you take a break and let me finish this potatoes?".

"No, no. I'm fine, I can take care of them".

"Don't take offense, but nobody would like to have blood soaked potatoes for dinner. Just get out of here and try to calm down, ok?", Ruiel gave her a gentle smile and ushered her away, her hands already busy with the vegetables.

Sighing, she followed her advice, her feet carrying her towards the quiet spot where Sparkler was kept together with a few other animals. Probably not the most noble accommodation for a proud horse of Rohan, but he did not seem to mind too much.

As she came in sight of the yard, she noticed a man leaning awkwardly on the fence and staring clearly toward her horse: a man with unmistakable fair hair. She was just about to turn and try to get out of sight, when Sparkler gave her away, his head shaking in his usual greeting. The man turned, the smile on his face as warm and open as she remembered it: "Asgarel, I suppose?".

She swallowed and looked nervously around, somehow still toying with the idea of just turning and running away. But it would have been pointless, so she simply walked by the man's side.

Sparkler greeted her, nuzzling insistently his nose against her shoulder, as if begging to be forgiven for having made her presence clear. _Traitor! Adorable traitor!_ She stroked his neck, unable to be angry with him: "Good morning, Wídfara. What brings you here?".

Wídfara side glanced at her, a mischievous smile on his face: "Months ago, a Princess visited my shop and liked so much what she saw, that she suggested expanding my business beyond Rohan's borders. I am merely following her advice".

"Was it a good one?".

"You don't know the half of it".

She smiled: "That's good".

She let Sparkler have his way until he eventually decided that he had done enough to be worthy of her mercy and moved his attention to Wídfara: "We were on our way to Pelargir, when we came across this village and were informed that a group of acrobats was to perform later today. Needless to say, Dernhild was immediately captivated and forced us to stop for the night".

"Dernhild?".

"Goldwyn's daughter".

She brought her hands to her face: "Oh my, I forgot! You got married?".

He laughed softly and nodded, pride shining clear in his green eyes: "End of last summer, yes".

"I am happy for you, Wídfara. Truly".

"Thank you, Asgarel".

The atmosphere seemed to relax and she couldn't help but chuckling: "Who told you my _name_?".

"Well, as I was saying, Dernhild kindly forced our group to stay for the night. Not that anybody minded, to be honest. We took a room at the inn down the road and I decided to have a closer look at this _Goulding's Crew_. And then, as I walked around, I saw what I did not expect to see ever again", he said, his head pointing towards Sparkler, "and well, a couple of questions did the rest".

For all her fears of being discovered by her father's man, she had never even considered the possibility that somebody from Rohan could happen upon her by chance. Really: what were the odds?

Wídfara gently squeezed her shoulder: "How are you, Asgarel?".

She sighed deeply, her eyes rising to the grey sky above them. _How am I?_ It was an easy question.

"I am…better".

"Only better? Not _good_?".

"No. Not _good_ ".

"You could do worse, I guess".

She laughed despite the lump in her throat: "That's the Wídfara I remember: always looking at the bright side!".

"You weren't much different, if I remember correctly. And I'm not that senile, so I'd rather trust my memory. What was that everybody was always mentioning? Ah, yes: your _overwhelming enthusiasm_!".

Yes. She had forgotten about it: how many times had Birthwyn and Gamling teased her for it? The morning she had insisted on having breakfast sitting on Meduseld's stairs, so that she could look at the snowy mountains. When she had dragged Gamling, Herubrand and Walda beyond the gates of Edoras, so that she could get familiar with Sparkler. When she had danced during the celebrations for Yule, not caring one bit that she didn't know the steps.

She shook her head, trying not to remember whom she had danced with that night: "Wídfara, will you…".

"Cry out loud that I found Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth? And why should I? All I met is Asgarel, a young lady with a nice horse, that's all", Wídfara said, a most innocent look on his face.

She should have felt relieved by his words, but she wasn't. Not completely, at least, for she felt torn: torn between old grudges and the longing for something she missed more than she dared to admit, torn between pride and the wish to see her family again. It was as if Asgarel and Lothíriel were pulling at her, each towards a different direction. And there she was, standing in the middle, unsure and uncertain, allowing them to yank her around.

"How is _he_?", she asked in a whisper, unable to pretend she didn't care.

Wídfara leaned with both his arms on the fence, carefully balancing his weight between his good leg and his wooden one: "He is fine…changed".

"Changed?".

"Yes. See, when he came back from the war in Harad, I tried to visit him. Despite being King, despite everything that had happened, his door had always been open for me, countless times he had offered me help and support. And I thought that maybe this time, I could have helped him, for I knew a thing or two about war injuries. But he never received me. He never received anyone. Everybody was concerned and after Aerandir's arrival, rumours spread like wildfire…one day he was on the way to make a full recovery, the next he was dying. We didn't know what to believe, we hadn't seen him in months. For all we knew, he could have been already dead. The morning I was told he had taken Sparkler and ridden away, I thought it a joke at first. Only when I saw Éothain rushing out, as pale as a sheet, did I understand it was happening for real…".

"He rode without telling anybody?".

"Yes. More than that: Aerandir covered up for him for two days. At dawn of the third day, Éothain's suspicions became unbearable and he broke into the Royal Apartments. I leave to your imagination what happened afterwards…".

The image of poor Éothain, pulling on his own hair in despair and rushing on a crazy chase across both Rohan and Gondor, had her smiling in spite of everything: "Is he now keeping him locked in Meduseld?".

"No. Not for lack of trying, clearly. When Éomer King finally came back, without you, without him", he said, his thumb pointing towards Sparkler, "we all got worried. We feared he would have become once more the sullen King we remembered from the year before, the one who had made Birthwyn sick with worry…the one who had mistreated my own sister…", he paused, his mind clearly wandering back to the events of those awful months.

"But…?", she prompted him.

"But he didn't. He's being…I don't want to say cheerful, for it wouldn't be true. But more…peaceful, calm. I think…I believe he's trying to be a better person, a more respectful one, one who doesn't regard everything around him as a potential threat to Rohan, one who listens more and frown less. We spoke a few times and he was always…positive, reassuring".

She stared at her bandaged thumb, unsure how Wídfara's unexpected words made her feel.

"Asgarel?".

She turned towards him, her hands slightly trembling: "Yes?".

"He has never spoken about it and all I know for sure is that he has made clear to the Council that he doesn't want to take wife. But I…I believe that even though the rational part of him tells him he has lost you, he has decided to ignore it and to trust hope instead, no matter the consequences, no matter the implications. He…he's been waiting for you. I think he'll always be…".

* * *

"Who was that man?".

She exchanged a frustrated look with Sparkler: "An old friend".

"What did he want?".

"Nothing. He simply recognized my horse and decided to stop by".

"Shall we take care of him? Kick him out?".

"NO!", she shouted, Sparkler immediately shaking nervously his head: "He is an old friend, Naron. Leave him be".

He trailed half a step behind them as she lead Sparkler towards the edge of the woods: "What are you doing?".

She snapped around and stomped her feet on the ground: "I am walking a saddled horse out of the camp. What do you think I'm doing? I'm going for a ride!".

"I thought you wanted to stay indoor while we are in Taminhir".

"I've changed my mind".

"You shouldn't wander on your own, it could be dangerous".

She stopped again, her tone dangerously low: "Do not presume to tell me what I can or cannot do, Naron".

He looked at her, his face slowly turning red and his voice high: "Why? Why is nothing I do ever right for you?!".

She tried to keep calm, for shouting back wouldn't help anybody.

She had tried. She had tried to tell him in a thousand different ways over the past few days that it wasn't his fault, that it wasn't because of something he had – or had not done, that she couldn't bring herself to reciprocate his feelings. But he would not listen, he would just keep trying, he would not give her a moment of peace.

It had been a stupid mistake to start with. She should have never allowed Túrel's words to influence her, she should have never told Naron that she was willing to get to know him better. She had only done it because she was angry, because she was upset that after more than three months from the last time she had seen him, the memories of Éomer could still affect her that much.

"It has nothing to do with you, Naron. I'm sorry if I've hurt you, it was never my intention. It was my mistake to believe things could change…".

"Things can change!".

"Some things can. But not this one, Naron".

"How can you say that? Don't you see that I lov…".

She put a finger on his mouth: "Don't say it, Naron. Save those words for somebody who will be willing to repeat them to you, for you".

He looked at her with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing, words failing him. She planted a light kiss on his cheek and before he could come up with some more nonsense, she quickly got into the saddle and urged Sparkler forward: "I will be back in a couple of hours, Naron. Don't worry for me".

* * *

As lunchtime came and passed, she did not turn Sparkler back towards the camp. Instead, she let him free to decide where he wanted to go, only occasionally stirring him if he was getting too far and out of sight of her errant home. Twice she dismounted, walking by his side for a while before finding a comfortable seat in a mossy log or a flat stone. As dusk approached, she could see the flickering light of torches being lit up in the camp, music and the excited voices of the first spectators slowly rising.

Was she disappointed by Wídfara's word? _Yes._ Course she was!

Had he told her that an overbearing Éomer was back in Edoras, his sulking and self-pitying attitude ruining the day to everybody around him, she would have felt reassured. Reassured she had done the right thing, reassured he wasn't a man she wanted to share anything with, reassured there was one option less to consider for her future.

But what was she to make of _trying to be a better person_ , a more _calm_ and _peaceful_ one? How was she to feel about _he's been waiting for you_?

She rubbed her face, forcing herself to remember how she had felt the day she had chased him, how she had felt in the following months, how he had annihilated all the qualities he had claimed to love of her. She tried to call upon the anger that had fuelled her that day at the tower, giving her the strength to push him aside and ride away. But it had vanished into thin air, leaving place to a shaky ground of doubts and uncertainties.

She shivered as a gust of cold wind blew down the hill: she should have gone back to the camp, but she felt too restless, and so she allowed Sparkler to roam for a while longer, while she took deep breaths and tried to calm down. She didn't know for how long they kept moving through the woods. All she knew was that at some point she suddenly realized dusk had turned into pitch darkness.

And that they were not alone.

Startled, she pulled Sparkler to a halt: a lively fire burned at no more than a few of meters from them, a sturdy man sitting by it, looking at them and probably wondering where had they come from and what were they doing there.

She held tight on the reins, expecting Sparkler to be just as caught by that sudden encounter as she was. Instead, he seemed perfectly relaxed and nodded vigorously his head towards the stranger, as if he was greeting an old friend. He would have walked to him, hadn't she held him there, puzzled by his behaviour: "I… I am sorry, I didn't want to disturb you. I just didn't see you".

The man turned back towards the fire and rubbed his hand: "No need to apologize, my Lady. You disturb no one".

That voice.

She knew that voice. But for the sake of her, she could not remember where had she heard it before. All she knew, was that there was something…familiar, reassuring, about it. She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a glimpse of the man's face. But a hood hid it from view and she couldn't even guess his age. Judging from his voice, maybe fifty, or sixty years old.

She looked around and noticed a cot nicely laid beside the fire: "Are you waiting for somebody?", she asked, trying to assess the man.

"I was, yes. But why don't you take a seat and warm up a bit? You seem to be freezing, child".

Reason screamed in her head to turn Sparkler and gallop back to the camp, for this man could be anybody. But there was something soothing about him, something that prevented her from being afraid. She glanced once more at Sparkler: he was still relaxed, no sign of nervousness whatsoever. Actually, he seemed rather happy, almost excited.

She looked back towards the cot: maybe she could sit for a while, just the time to get warm before riding back. _Yes, just a couple of minutes._

She slowly dismounted and sat opposite to the man, raising her hands towards the fire and relishing in the warmth spreading through her body.

"Something troubling you?".

"I met somebody today. An old friend, one I did not expect to see", she answered without thinking.

"Sounds like something to rejoice".

"Yes. I was happy to see him", she said, her tongue inexplicably loosened.

"Then what's troubling you?".

"Something he told me. About a man I had hoped to forget about".

Shreds of sanity flashed in her mind: why are you even talking to this man? Why did you sit with him? Why are you not riding back?

She didn't know, she couldn't explain it. She felt like talking to somebody she had always known, somebody she could trust with her confession.

"What did this man do, to deserve to be forgotten?".

"He loved me. Promised me we would have always been together, but broke his oath after he was injured. He lost the use of his legs, thought he would have been paralyzed for the rest of his days. He decided he wouldn't have been able to offer me a decent life, and so he left me".

"How?".

"He knew I wouldn't have accepted his reasons. So he lied to me and told me he hated me, that it was all my fault and that he didn't want to see me ever again".

The man took a knife out of his pocket and started to carve what looked like an oddly red piece of wood, the likes of which she had never seen before. At first, she thought it was simply painted in red, but nobody would carve a piece of painted wood, it wouldn't make sense: "And how did it make you feel?".

"Hurt. Guilt. I blamed myself for always sticking my noise where I shouldn't, for having ruined his life".

"But you were not at fault".

"No".

"What then?".

"He recovered and came back to me. Confessed everything and begged me to forgive him".

"I supposed you refused him".

"Yes. And then I just run away. Nobody, not him nor my family have known anything about me for the past four months". Guilt, real and deserved this time, struck her as she thought of her father, of her brothers, of her aunt, of all the people she had left behind, worrying for her.

"You felt lost".

Her head snapped up, words rushing out of her mouth, as if in a desperate attempt to justify what she did: "Yes! I needed time on my own, to recover, to regain the confidence he had ripped off me, to…to find myself again".

"That's understandable, child".

Her shoulders slumped: "It was also selfish, wasn't it?".

"Leaving your family without letting them know whether you were fine, whether you were still alive? Yes, that was selfish. But people do the weirdest, most irrational things when hurt and in pain".

She looked back at him and noticed that despite the lively flames in front of him, his face was still completely shadowed. She swallowed and stared back at the fire, her voice thin: " _He_ was also hurt and in pain".

"Everybody in his condition would".

Of course he was. Éomer might have been a King, but he had always been a rider and a soldier first. He had spent his life fighting, relying on his skills to keep himself and his men alive. She knew how hard it had been for him to wake up and suddenly realize his body was broken, his life turned upside down.

And she remembered when he had tried to call off their engagement. He had thought himself not worthy and, in doing so, he had made himself the only really worthy man out there. What had his fears, his _high standards_ – as her father called them, done to him once he had found himself bedridden for good?

"You think I should have forgiven him?".

"You did what you felt like doing".

"I was angry. All the pain, the anguish, the guilt…all for nothing, all for a lie…".

"Are you still? Angry, I mean".

She sighed and pulled the hood of her cloak up her head, trying to find shelter from the breeze sweeping the edge of the woods: "No. I run off willing to get away from him, but instead it feels like I put myself on a journey to get back to him, if that makes any sense at all…".

"It does. But what did your friend tell you, that troubled you so much?".

"That he is doing good, that he's trying to learn from his mistakes".

"You should be relieved".

"I am. It's just…I guess it reminded me of all that is good of him. I spent the last months trying to think as few as I could of him. And when it could not be avoided, my thoughts were still fuelled by the hatred for all he has put me through. But now, I realize the anger is gone and I'm not sure what's left after it".

They kept silent for a while, the cracking of the fire only occasionally interrupted by the barn-owls hunting nearby, by the faint music coming from the camp at the bottom of the valley, by the noise of Sparkler grazing on the wet spring grass. Her eyelids were getting heavier, the warmth of the fire cradling her. She should have gone back to her tent, but it felt so good out there, so peaceful: "You haven't told me your name", she told the man as she absently slipped down the cot, her head resting on a soft, strange blanket.

"My name matters not, child".

"Alright", she mumbled, feeling too drowsy to argue.

"Lothíriel?".

"Yes?", she asked, forcing her eyes open. The man was not sitting by the fire anymore: somehow, without making any sound at all, he had come by her side. He kneeled next to her, a hand gently resting on her hooded head, his eyes fixed on hers' and a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. She recognized those features now, she recognized that voice, that accent. She smiled up at him.

"Holding a grudge it's easy. Everybody can do that. But to forgive someone for his mistakes, to go past your pain to understand his', that's a gift that only few truly have".

She snuggled deeper under her cloak, breathing deeply in the musky air of the forest, her eyes closing again: "Wídfara says he's been waiting for me".

"Of course he is. He loves you".

* * *

Frantic cries and a loud neighing startled her awake. Confused, she snapped up and reached for her dagger. She looked around and at first all she could see, were Sparkler's hoofs. Then, slowly, she became aware of worried voices filling the air and she got immediately on her feet: "Hush, Sparkler. Easy boy, easy…".

Naron, pale and with deep circles around his eyes, walked around her horse and took her by the shoulders, shaking her: "Have you gone mad? What has got into you?".

She looked at him, bewildered. Devedir stepped between the two of them and pushed Naron unceremoniously away: "Calm down, Naron!".

He stared back at the old man, livid: "Calm down? She had us looking for her for a whole night, sick with worry, and then we just find her sleeping on the ground. And I should calm down? She could have frozen to death!".

 _A whole night?_ She looked up towards the sky: bright and clear, the sun already rising over the East. _That cannot be!_

Herself incredulous that she had managed to fall asleep so deep and for so long, she tried to ease the general mood: "I am sorry. I didn't mean to have you worrying. I rode for most of the afternoon and then I came upon a fire and…"

 _Wait. Who have I come upon?_

She remembered meeting a strange old man. She remembered telling him her story. She remembered feeling sleepy and tired. She remembered lying on the cot. And then…her eyes widened and she turned around: there was no cot. No tracks of a fire. No footprints apart from hers.

But the fire had been there, for she could remember its warmth. _He_ had been there, for she could remember Sparkler greeting _him_. He had seen _him_ as well.

She looked back towards Naron and Devedir, only then spotting Túrel and a few other people emerging from the woods and coming to join them: "There was somebody. We camped by his fire, I slept on his cot…".

"What fire, Asgarel? There is nothing here! Don't you think we would have noticed a fire while we scouted the area looking for you? Are you taking again that potion, eh? Is that it?".

"NO!", she cried, feeling her cheeks heating: she had been clean for over two weeks, and he knew it! But how could she possibly explain what had happened, when she herself found it hard to believe?

"What's that?", Devedir kneeled and took something from a log, the same one _he_ had been sitting upon. She walked to him and looked in stunned disbelief as he opened his hand: she wasn't crazy!

She took the tiny red fox and twisted it in her fingers, tears of relief and happiness rolling down her cheeks: for months she had carefully kept it stored in her pockets and then, one day, she had stupidly lost it. And she had been too numbed by the damned potion to even remember how. But now, there it was!

 _He loves you._

Crying and laughing at the same time, she dried her cheeks and hugged Devedir tight before jumping on Sparkler's saddle, the cool morning air flushing her face as she rode back towards the camp. She hurried inside her tent and grabbed Asgarel's few belongings.

"You are leaving".

She rose her eyes to find Ruiel staring at her: "Yes, I am!", she laughed back, not caring one bit that she probably looked completely out of her mind.

"Wait a moment!", the woman said, before running away.

While Ruiel disappeared inside the main tent, she walked back towards Sparkler, securing the saddle bag and checking carefully on him: despite the night spent in the forest, he looked just as fresh as herself.

True to her words, Ruiel was back after only a few short moments, a thick blanket hanging over one arm, a small package in her other hand: "Something to eat on the way. And a blanket to keep you warm: it will be colder in the North".

She looked at her, frowning: "How do you know I'm going North?".

Ruiel smiled, the dimples on her cheeks giving her a younger look: "A few days before you found us, I was in the forest with Devedir to collect herbs. We were approached by a group of riders from Dol Amroth: they asked us whether we had seen a woman with dark hair and a small scar on her forehead, riding a chestnut horse. They didn't say who they were looking for, but we had spent a few days in Lebennin in November. Devedir had heard about guards looking for the Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and it wasn't too hard to connect the two things".

"You have always known?".

"Only me and Ruiel, for we decided not to tell anyone", Devedir said as he dismounted his old mare to join them

"Yes. And when Túrel told us your story, we knew it was the King of Rohan the one you were running from. Everybody knew you two were engaged and now…now you are going back to him. Aren't you?".

She nodded, too astonished to say anything at all. Ruiel pushed the blanket in her arms while Devedir piled a short sword on the top of it: "Take this as well. Your skills leave something to be desired but if the need arises, I believe you might yet surprise your opponent".

Cries in the air told her that Naron and the others were on their way back from the forest: "Go, Asgarel", Devedir prompted her.

"I should speak to him. Explain…".

" _We_ will speak to him. He will only delay you and you won't achieve anything, for he is not going to listen. We all like him, he's a good lad, but…he's just a boy, while you are a grown woman, Asgarel. Things would have never worked out between the two of you. Ride now and you will be able to pass Minas Tirith and make it to the first village on the Great West Road before dusk".

"Will you care for him?".

"Course we will".

She hugged them tightly together, Ruiel awkwardly patting her back, Devedir's beard prickling on her cheeks: "Thank you. For everything. Tell Túrel too, tell her…".

"We will. Now, off you go!".

She mounted Sparkler, rushed him out of the camp and down the road crossing the village. She turned only once to see Ruiel and Devedir standing next to each other, waving at her. _Farewell, my friends._

* * *

 **Author's notes:** oh my, that was one long, tough chapter to write! I hope things don't seem too rushed but I really didn't want to keep Lothíriel's adventure too long (I mean: she's anyway been away for four months!). As mentioned in an answer to a review in the previous chapter, while I do believe Éomer was at fault, I also think that losing one's mind in such situation can be understandable, once anger has cool down. At the same time, we can't deny that Lothíriel's decision to run away has put many people through a lot of pain and anguish. I think she has just come to understand that while Éomer did wrong her, there are times in our life when it's hard to think straight and it's easy to do foolish things that we will end up regretting.

Ironically, Túrel's attempt to push her in Naron's arms has worked against her original intent, for it has helped Lothíriel admitting that she still loves Éomer. A fortuitous encounter with Wídfara and a mysterious (probably not so much) encounter in the woods have done the rest to have her understanding what she really wants.

 _Cricket22:_ glad it was an improvement to the previous one! Well, I'm not a historian and maybe I'm completely wrong here, but I would expect errant companies to travel around with their shows in times such as the Middle Age. So why not LOTR? But again: I might be completely wrong (will check it though)! I hadn't considered the idea of having them going to Dol Amroth, but I did think a lot about Yule and Rohan. However, timewise it was not fitting. The previous chapter was already well-past the celebrations, and anyway Yule seemed too close in time to her flight to have her considering the idea of riding back to Rohan, even if disguised. As per telling that she's a Princess, I figured she would have thought it to be too risky. She knows her family is looking for her and while she trusted the people of the _Goulding's Crew_ , there might have still been somebody willing to turn her to her family, maybe in the hope of being paid a nice prize for it. As promised, her adventure is already coming to an end: I didn't want to keep it going for too long. Hope the two encounters in this chapter weren't too much all together, but I thought she needed some help to understand what she really wanted to do, where she wanted to be. As per the latest of them, I guess I don't need to explain, just to thank you for the inspiration! Hope you liked how I played it out!

 _Menelwen:_ I suppose the _becoming nobody_ part can remind of Arya, yes. Though Lothíriel decided to run away and was not forced by circumstances to leave her family. I am really (REALLY) happy you liked this bunch of new characters. As I didn't want to spend too much time on Lothíriel's stay with the crew, I only had a few lines to introduce them and tried to make the best out of it. I didn't want to be too mean towards Naron, but I simply portrayed him as very young, immature and insecure, living his affections in an obsessive and often unhealthy way. He stuck to Lothíriel and of course nothing good could come out of it. As per the "not too many chapters are left", I feel you. I had thought about adding another part to this story, but it felt like stretching it beyond what made sense. However, as mentioned in an answer to another review, I was thinking about posting a series of one-shots: it would give me the freedom of telling more about Éomer and Lothíriel and other characters (Holdwyn and Walda surely deserve some space!) in a more casual way. Maybe you'd like that?

 _Rogue's Queen_ : well she's smart and had a bit of luck so of course she landed on her feet! :D More than that, she seems to be heading just the right direction!

 _Wondereye:_ no need for that. She found herself! ;)

 _Doria Nell:_ sweet of you to let me know! :) Glad the story is still keeping you company and hope things will soon get quieter!


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

 _Rohan, April the 7th, 3021_

When the lights of the small village emerged at the end of the road ahead of her, Lothíriel sighed in relief. The sun had long set behind the White Mountains and it would soon be dark. But just as Gytha had told her, _ride now and you'll make it before nightfall._

 _Bless you, Gytha!_

She eased Sparkler at a slow canter and entered the settlement, her eyes scanning for the red banner of the local inn. She could not see it, but she didn't need to, for she could hear it clearly. Indeed, the whole valley probably could. _Trust the Rohirrim to know how to throw a proper celebration_.

She looked around, searching for a stable or a paddock which could host Sparkler for the night. As it was to be expected, the place was totally overcrowded: "Don't worry, Sparkler. We'll find you a nice spot", she reassured him, stroking his neck. She knew he was tired and no matter how eager she was, she wasn't going anywhere unless she was sure he was well cared for.

She approached a young lad and tested her shaky knowledge of the Rohirric language to ask for directions. The boy raised a lantern towards her, clearly surprised by the sight of a Gondorian woman riding alone in the semi-darkness, on a Rohirric mount to boot. He pointed his finger towards a big building, probably a granary, and waved his hand around. _Behind the corner, got it!_

She thanked him and dismounted, leading Sparkler to a broad paddock which was already hosting a few horses. She looked carefully at them: war mounts, but none that was familiar.

An old man approached her, his knowledge of the common tongue surely better than her Rohirrim: "You can leave your horse here, milady. I will care for him".

"Thank you. But I'd prefer caring for him myself".

The man didn't seem particularly convinced, but nodded nonetheless and showed her where she could put her saddle and find some fresh forage. She thanked him again and observed him disappearing into the darkening street.

Truth was, she needed a moment to calm to down. And caring for Sparkler was not only due, but also very soothing.

Quietly, she removed his saddle, bridles and other headgear. After five months of caring daily for him, her movements had become practiced and confident, their bond as strong as ever. She knew the exact spot behind the ears where he loved to be scratched, she knew that he enjoyed snapping a crunchy treat from her hands before grazing on the forage: it was all part of a small ritual that they both equally enjoyed.

Finally satisfied that he had been ensured the level of comfort he deserved, she took a step back and breathed deeply: "Alright, my friend. I'll see you in the morning, ok?". She gave him a last quick stroke on the neck before walking out of the paddock and back into the street.

The air was pleasantly cool and the ground dry, sign that it had been some time since the last rainfall. Indeed, her entire ride had been blessed by a charming weather, the exact opposite of what had happened during her first visit to Rohan, when rain had battered her group for the whole length of the trip. This time, not a single drop of rain had fallen on her head, the wind had never blown too strong and the sun had always shone on her face. So charming, that despite being keen on getting to Edoras as soon as possible, more than once she had decided to slow down and take her time to enjoy the ride.

When she had run away from her aunt, while exhilarated for the adventure she was embracing, she hadn't really been in the right frame of mind to enjoy the time spent on the road. It had been just that: a flight, an escape. One where you constantly watch over your shoulders, one where you are afraid of even coming into sight of a village, one where your own troubles jeopardise any possibility of taking in the beauty around you. But this time, riding into Rohan, her eyes fixed on the road ahead of her rather than on the one behind her, she had been struck about how good it felt to be out there, on her own, free to decide where to go and when, free to stop by a village if she felt tired or by a lake if she wanted to eat something in the silent company of a majestic landscape.

As she finally reached the local inn, she paused in front of its door: the riders inside where singing or, better said, slurring a song which words, she had no doubt, were not intended for the ears of a Princess. She raised her hand to the worn out wood of the door but it suddenly banged open: a tall, young man stumbled outside, a mug of ale in one hand and a blond girl under his other arm. They almost crashed into her as they wobbly walked towards the street and, she could only guess, more secluded corners. The man murmured something that sounded like an apologize while the girl laughed and clung on his shoulder.

She shook her head, laughing, and finally she stepped inside: the tavern was totally overcrowded, blond heads towering over her in each direction, the smell of ale, roasted chicken and men who hadn't had a bath in a too long time, mixing together in one almost unbearable whiff.

Ignoring the curious glances she got, she stepped on a chair and looked around, scanning the crowd in search of one specific blonde head. No luck, but as she glanced towards the stairs leading to the upper floor, she easily recognized the two people guarding the way.

She pushed her way through the drunken riders, squeezing among them and not shying away from using an elbow or two to move forward. After some struggle, she finally got a glimpse of Éothain and Elfhelm, animatedly discussing something.

She tried to approach them but was immediately rewarded with a murderous look by Éothain. He told her something that she could not understand, but that sounded like _don't you even dare going upstairs_ , before being unceremoniously pushed back towards the crowd. The Captain pointed then his finger at her and mumbled something to Elfhelm, who gave her a brief look before joining Éothain in a loud, sneering laughter.

 _Funny. Very, very funny. You'll have to share that joke with me, one day!_

She stepped back towards them and this time, before Éothain could do or say anything, she pushed back the hood covering her head: not completely, just barely enough to lighten her features and her dark hair.

 _Ah, the look on his face!_

Éothain choked on his drink and started coughing, ale coming out of his nose, his eyes widening as he grabbed Elfhelm's arm and shook it. The older man patted his back, not really paying her any attention: "I must say, Marshal Elfhelm, that your wife has been a way more gracious host than you". The Marshall froze on the spot, his mouth hanging, words dying in his throat. She couldn't help but smiling, satisfied: "May I?", she asked, her hand waving at the stairs.

Still trying to get a hold of his coughing fit, Éothain nodded and pushed Elfhelm aside, words coming out strangled from his mouth: "Last…door…right".

* * *

Éomer scratched his beard as he went through his records once more.

The winter had been cold and unusually dry, but luckily for them snowfalls had been abundant over the mountains and the rivers were now swollen with more than enough freshwater. Livestock had been replenished, fields seeded and all of a sudden, the problem wasn't how to feed the people anymore, but rather how to establish and consolidate profitable trade routes for their goods. He was no expert in the field, but with the support of his Councillors and his Marshalls, things were coming along.

The villages which had been rebuilt during the previous summer were now thriving and growing, the families which had been left homeless by the war had a much deserved roof over their head, their children enough food to grow into a new generation of proud, strong riders. Orcs' presence had been scarce and there hadn't been skirmishes with the Dunlendings in months.

He folded the letter he had been working on and carefully sealed its envelope: yes, things in Rohan were good, better than he would have ever dared to imagine only one year before. A loud choir rose from the tavern downstairs and he laughed as he sipped his ale: good times indeed.

Pushing aside the parchments scattered on the table, he made ready to enjoy his dinner when the unmistakable sound of the squeaking door had him sighing in frustration. _Damned Éothain._ He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to the wooden beams above his head: "I don't want any company, girl. What's so hard to understand? Now, get out!".

Light steps were followed by the sound of the door clicking closed and he turned his head, irritated: "I said th…".

He froze mid-sentence as he spotted a hooded figure standing in the way, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger in his belt, his eyes glancing towards Gúthwinë, resting barely out of reach of his arm.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to assess the mysterious intruder: short, lean, covered head to toes by a rugged cloak, the shape of a short sword hanging at the belt easily recognizable. His hand still firm on the grip of the dagger, he slowly stood up and took a cautious step towards his sword: "Who are you?", he asked.

The intruder did not move nor answer at first, but as his hand slowly crept towards Gúthwinë, a soft voice rose: "Your hospitality has worsened compared to my first visit to Rohan. At least, back then you didn't draw a sword on me".

His hand stopped, his fingers only barely brushing the hilt of Gúthwinë. Suddenly, the room became very quiet: muffled were the voices of his Éored, dimmed their choirs, vanished the aroma of food and ale. He was only vaguely aware of holding his breath, of covering in three long strides the distance between him and the door, of raising his arms and then stopping, almost afraid that it was all but a dream, that she would have vanished the moment his fingers had touched the cloak.

But two small hands came to his rescue, pushing down the hood in one swift movement, lively grey eyes looking back at him: "Hello Éomer".

 _Lothíriel._

Fragments of the past year and a half, a multitude of different Lothíriels passed in front of his eyes in just the time of a heartbeat: soaked and muddy, dismounting her exhausted mare upon arriving in Edoras. Stubborn and poised, openly challenging him in front of his Council. Excited and almost childish-like, finding every day a new reason to take Meduseld by storm. Wise beyond her age, offering him advice and support in his darkest moments. Frail and broken, cradling the still form of Gamling in her arms and refusing to let him go. Proud and unyielding, standing her ground against those who had wanted to smear his name. Soft and warm, innocent and yet passionate, her presence in his arms able to let him forget that there was a world spinning around them.

She had fought like a lioness for him, she had rushed to him when she knew him to be in danger, she had kept his side in spite of everything and everyone. Losing her had left a hole inside him, one he had not wished to fill, one he would never want to be filled in any way, by anyone.

And now there she was, sweeping inside his room like the morning breeze, more beautiful than ever in her plain, worn-out cloak.

 _Lothíriel._

He crushed her to him and lifted her off the ground, the feeling of her lithe body in his arms making him almost dizzy with happiness. Her cloak fell off her shoulders, her arms locked around his neck as she hid her face in the crook of his neck, holding on him with a strength that did not surprise him anymore.

He spun around, honestly unsure whether he was crying or laughing. And then he hastily put her down, cupped her face with both his hands and searched her eyes, looking for reassurance, for it felt almost impossible that it was really happening: "You are here…", he whispered, his forehead touching hers, his thumbs stroking her wet cheeks.

She laughed, her smile as bright and beautiful as he could remember: "I am!", she cried, her hands mirroring his and resting on his bearded cheeks.

There were so many things he wished to tell her, that he wasn't able to get a single word out of his mouth. But it did not matter, for that was no time for words.

The smile on Lothíriel's lips slowly faded away, her eyes piercing into his very soul. She stood on her toes, her face only a hair's width from his: time seemed to slow down, to stretch, until finally her soft lips were pressed on his, urgent and passionate.

He circled her waist with his arm and sunk one hand into her braided hair, holding firmly on the nape of her neck as their kiss deepened, their tongues intertwining with each other in an almost desperate kiss, one that spoke of longing, desire and relief at the same time.

She nibbled his lower lip and he couldn't help but groaning, feeling his body reacting to her touch the same way it had always done. He pushed her back until she hit the table where his dinner stood forgotten and then lifted her on it, leaning back so that he could drink in the sight of her: her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks, her darkened eyes.

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him back to her, her fingers impatiently tugging at his tunic. His lips descended on her neck and slowly trailed along its curve, down to her throat, deepening more and more until the hem of her dress became an unbearable nuisance. His hands found the laces and impatiently pulled on them, until they teared and yielded, until Lothíriel's shoulders were slowly unveiled, one inch at a time of glorious, smooth skin.

Her breath was ragged as she slipped her arms out of the dress and undergarments, allowing them to pool at her waist. And then her hands were back into his hair, her eyes a mirror of his own desire, of his own hunger.

He tasted her skin, relishing in every single moan of pleasure his lips would give her, knowing that he couldn't hold much longer but wishing at the same time he could stretch that moment to the eternity. Desire set his blood boiling, his heart pumped furiously in his chest, his hands roamed on Lothíriel's body as if his very survival depended on that touch, on her.

As his tunic was finally unbuttoned, Lothíriel pushed it off his shoulders and started exploring his back, his chest, his abdomen with hot, scratching hands. He trembled when he felt her hand flattening against his stomach and slipping inside his trousers: he leaned with both his arms on the table, moaning her name at the feeling of her lithe fingers pressing against him, inexperienced and yet confident at the same time.

He wanted her. He wanted her like he had never wanted anything else in his whole life. He needed her like he had never needed anything else in his whole life.

 _Lothíriel._

He lifted her again in his arms, their lips never leaving each other's as he staggered towards the bed. He lowered her on it and kneeled on the mattress at her feet. She made for lifting up but he pushed her down instead: "Your hair: unbind them", he whispered to her ear before helping her legs out of her tangled clothes.

He sat on his heels, his hands moving slowly but firmly on Lothíriel's thighs, trying to take in everything of that moment: her naked body, her long, wavy hair, her rounded breasts, her flat stomach…

Lothíriel lifted herself on her elbows, biting on her lower lip and observing him as he stood up and finally unbuckled his belt and got rid of his trousers. Even in the dim light of the candles, he could see the blush on her cheeks deepening as her eyes slid down his figure, briefly widening as they came to rest on his hard, throbbing manhood. Her chest heaved but when she raised her eyes back to his, there was no fear, no doubt, no hesitation.

Only deep, intense desire, to match his own.

He lied on top of her, holding his weight on one arm and fiercely kissed her as their hands started again to explore and tease, every touch bolder and more daring than the previous one.

Her fingers scratched his lower back in an upward movement that had him gasping for air. His hand came to rest on her breast, his thumb rubbing on her nipple.

Her hand pushed his hair aside so to leave his neck at the mercy of her bites and kisses. His hand trailed on the inner side of her thigh, finally coming to rest on the dark, wet junction between her legs, his thumb moving in slow circles, his fingers probing.

She moaned his name and instinctively pressed herself against his hand, her back arching, her hands pulling on his buttocks. He removed his hand and rubbed his manhood against her instead, his whole body shaking in anticipation. _Madness_. The way her touch had always been able to set him on fire, was a madness he could not explain. Nor wanted to.

She gasped and moved against him: "Éomer…", she called him, an almost desperate tone staining her voice.

He bit on his cheek to keep himself from plunging into her, his desire slowly turning into an almost physical ache. He looked down at her, searching for one last reassurance: "Are you sure?", she asked in a deep and yet shaky voice.

Her eyes fluttered open: she looked deep into his eyes, her hands cupping his neck, the tip of her nose brushing his. "I've always been sure, Éomer. Ever since that night at the Hornburg. The question is: are you?".

He stared at her and he knew there had always been just one possible answer.

He nestled himself between her legs: "I love you, Lothíriel", he whispered against her hot skin as he slowly pushed inside her, his eyes shutting closed as with each moan she welcomed him deeper inside her. He paused the moment he felt some resistance, but she was quick to reassure him: "Don't…stop…", she begged him, her voice husky.

He thrusted again until finally they were one, until every last remaining bit of self-control slipped through his fingers, the feeling of Lothíriel around him erasing everything else. He moved inside her, painfully slow at first, trying to give her time to adjust. And once she had, her confidence grew, her hips rocking against his, her movements an extension of his, until he did not know where one ended and where the next started.

Lothíriel gasped as he took one of her breasts in his mouth, nibbling and sucking at her hard nipple, thrusting harder and quicker inside her, a shiver going down his spine every time his name was on her soft lips.

He groaned and held tight on her hips as her movements became erratic. She threw her head back and he felt her pleasure coming to a peak, he felt her tightening around him, dragging him over that sweet brink with her, her name on his lips, their bodies melting together. His whole body shook as he buried himself deeper, spilling inside her in one last, overwhelming wave of pleasure before collapsing on top of her, breathless and gloriously exhausted, Lothíriel's limbs still tightly wrapped around him.

* * *

The night grew old: the tavern downstairs had long become silent and cool air filtered through the ajar window, carrying the calls of the little owls and the occasional barking of some dog. Lothíriel's rested with her head on his chest, sighing contently as his hands caressed her soft skin and dropped light kisses on her head.

He had thought so many times about that moment, trying to imagine the day leading to it. A wedding, a solemn ceremony, a lavish feast, their families and friends reunited around them. Meduseld, the Golden Hall, the Royal Chamber, all meticulously prepared for that one night.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing he had imagined, could have ever matched the perfection of that moment, of that simple room, of that small bed, of that late spring night.

"I am sorry, Éomer", Lothíriel whispered against his skin.

He looked down at her, puzzled: "What for?".

She rose and leaned on her elbow, her hand softly caressing his chest: "For everything. For running away the way I did, for…".

He took her hand and kissed it: "You don't need to…".

"No, Éomer: I do. You made your apologies months ago, now let me make mines. It's true that you shouldn't have deceived me, but in turn I should have understood you better. I should have known that the frustration, the fear and the pain for the condition you found yourself trapped in, could have made you take inconsiderate, foolish decisions. And I'm sorry for my reaction that day at the tower: I wasn't myself, all I could see and care about was the pain you had put me through and it that moment, I cared nothing for yours. I am sorry for having left you without any news for months: for all you knew, I could have been death. It's a burden nobody deserved: not you, nor my family. I should have at least reassured you that I was well".

She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, as if she had been long waiting for a chance to relieve herself of her own burdens. He squeezed her hand and pulled her to his chest, his arms firmly encircling her: just when he had thought that she could not have possibly surprised him anymore, there she was, proving him wrong again, making him love her even more, however that was possible.

"Did I hurt you?".

"What?".

"That day at the tower…when I kind of tried to stone you…".

He scratched his beard: "With excellent aim one might add. But don't worry: I only got a couple of bruises to remind me of my foolishness. Your kneeing though…Bema, that was a real low blow, woman!".

She thought about it for a second and he knew he had to brace himself for whatever remark she was to come up with: "Clearly without any long-lasting consequences though", she replied, waving her hand in the air as to minimize his complain.

Just the kind of thing she would say! He burst out laughing: "How I've missed you, Lothíriel. You have no idea!".

She raised again to look at him, trying to turn serious despite the smile lingering on her lips: "I've missed you too, Éomer. I just needed time to admit it to myself".

"So, will you now tell me?".

"Tell you what?".

"Where have you been all this time!".

She moved next to him and lied on her side, her head resting on her folded arm, her shoulders covered by a cascade of raven hair: "You want the long version or the short one?".

He snorted as he mirrored her position, his legs lightly brushing hers: "The long one, of course!".

"Very well. After I left you at the tower, I started heading back to my aunt's palace. But then I realized that while I did not want to come back to you, I did not want to get back to my aunt either. And then it just came to me that I didn't have to, that I could have gone anywhere I wanted. So I rode off the road, pushed Sparkler through the woods and camped in a cave. That's pretty much all I did for the first two weeks or so. But then days started to get colder: I grew worried, for I knew that soon enough I wouldn't have been able to sleep outdoor anymore. And that's when I came across the _Goulding's Crew_ ".

" _Goulding's Crew_?", he echoed her.

She laughed softly: "Yes. An errant company of actors and acrobats. They move from village to village and organize shows and plays".

"You turned into an actress?", he asked, incredulous.

"No: not enough talent, I'm afraid. But they would have never said _no_ to some extra help. I did everything that was needed: washing, sewing, cooking, tending to their few animals, serving food and ale during the shows. In exchange, they provided me with room and board and they…they cared for me. There were times when I thought I would have never wanted to leave them".

"What made you change your mind?".

"You see, during my first months away, I tried to think of _Lothíriel_ and everything related to her as few as possible. I called myself Asgarel and tried to live her life. But at some point…", she stopped, chewing on her lip and glancing nervously at him, as if there were things that she was afraid to say.

He held firmly her hand and smiled at her, encouraging.

"There was a young man, Naron. He fell in love with me though I failed to see it at first. Until one evening, as I was sitting by one of the fires to patch some costumes, he sat next to me and kissed me".

 _That_ hit him like a bolt from the blue. An instinctive and visceral jealousy rose inside him at the idea that somebody else had dared touching her, dared tasting the softness of her lips. But he knew better than to give in to one of his outbursts, and so he breathed deeply, trying to cool down his mounting anger. He kissed her hand and waited for her to continue her tale: she was staring at his chest and he could tell that her mind was far away.

"I panicked and run back to my tent. It was as if…as if my past was a flooded chamber, separated from the present only by a door. I had managed to keep that door scrupulously shut for months, but that kiss changed it all. It banged open and once it did, the past started to flood into the present and there was no way to stop it anymore. And it made me angry".

Realising he was gripping her hand strong enough to almost crush it, he loosened its grip: "What happened then?", he asked, feeling at unease as to where all this was leading.

"The morning after he kissed me, I sought out Naron. I told him that I did not reciprocate his feelings, but that I was willing to spend some time with him, so that we could get to better know each other and see if things could change".

"Did they?", he asked, holding his breath.

She smiled and leaned to press a kiss on the tip of his nose: "No, Éomer. Not in the way Naron hoped, at least. The more time I spent with him, the more I thought of you, the more I realized that my love for you had never waned, the more I missed you. And before you start running with that head of yours", she said, her finger tapping on his forehead, "Naron might have tried to hold my hand or to hug me a couple of times, but his attempts were short lived and there was never anything between us".

He exhaled and rubbed his face: "This _Goulding's Crew…_ they never come to Rohan, right?".

"Not that I know. They mostly dwell between Pelargir and Minas Tirith".

"Good".

She laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder: "Éomer, you are terrible! Is this how you show gratitude to the people who welcomed me when I was in need?".

"Alright, alright: if we will ever meet them, I will be happy to personally thank them and to even swallow my pride and shake hands with this…Naron. Happy?".

"Absolutely! Hey, want to know a secret? During my time with them, I had sword lesson and even learned how to juggle a little bit!".

"You?", he mocked her.

She stared at him, supposedly offended: "I am deeply wounded by your disbelief, Éomer King! By all means, let me demonstrate!". She sneaked out of the bed, grabbed the five small apples that stood on the table and turned back to him, defiant: "Ready, my Lord?".

He crossed his arms behind his head and nodded. Dressed only of the light of the candles and her ebony hair, the apples were really the last thing he was interested in.

* * *

Feeling the size and weight of the apples in her hands, Lothíriel threw the first one in the air and had the others to quickly follow. She concentrated, her hands moving fast to keep the apples in motion: getting started was always the most difficult part but once that was done, it came relatively easy to go on.

She grinned and feeling confident enough, she dared glancing towards Éomer to see his face: a big disappointment and a grave error, for his eyes were staring at everything but the apples, roaming instead on the curves of her naked body in a way that sent a shiver running through her whole body. Hands included, naturally: they hesitated, even if just for the split of a second. But it was still enough to break the carefully balanced movements: two apples collided with her nose, their aim treacherously accurate, while the rest fell to the floor and scattered around.

She gasped and touched incredulous her sore nose, looking back towards Éomer. One had to give him that: he tried. He tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably and roared in a loud laughter, almost toppling down the bed.

She collected one apple from the floor and threw it him: "You were not looking!".

"…I…was…just…not…apples!", he managed to get out.

She reached him on the bed and sat upright, pretending to be offended: "Are you done yet?".

He dragged her down a planted a loud kiss on her nose: "Maybe. Did it hurt?", he asked, still chuckling.

"Only my pride", she answered dramatically, the rumble of her empty stomach somewhat ruining the solemnity of her statement.

"Are you hungry?".

"No. I am starving!".

Éomer snapped up: "Why didn't you tell it earlier!?", he asked, already striding towards the table.

Lothíriel stared at the golden skin of his broad back, at the muscles flexing as he leaned to collect their dinner. Suddenly, it became very clear why he hadn't been particularly interested in the apples during her naked performance. There must have been a pretty dumb expression on her face, for he gave her a smug smile as he walked back towards the bed, a generous portion of roasted chicken in one hand and a mug of ale in the other: "Eat now. Do you want me to check if somebody can warm it up?".

"Cold will do, don't worry. Come, let's share it!", she told him, patting the mattress.

He laid the plate on the bed and sat opposite of her, passing her a generous piece of chicken: "There's one thing you didn't tell me: how did you find me here, of all places?".

"I stopped at Aldburg", she answered as she happily chewed on the juicy meat. "It was too late to ride to Edoras and so I decided to spend the night there. I wasn't planning to speak to Gytha but I swear, she only quickly saw me form across the street, hood and everything, and she immediately recognized me. Unlike somebody else, I shall say…".

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry for almost drawing my sword on you!".

"If that makes you feel any better, you are not alone".

"Whom shall I rough up?".

"Éothain. And Elfhelm. But mostly Éothain".

He groaned: "What did he do?".

"He was watching that nobody came upstairs. I approached him and without even giving me the time to say a word, he shoved me back into the crowd of drunken riders. To top it, he told some kind of joke to Elfhelm, something that seemed to be suspiciously related to my stature, and they both shared such a good laughter".

"Is he still alive to tell the story?".

"Alive? Yes. Tell the story, I'm not quite sure. Last time I saw him, he had ale pouring out of his nose".

Éomer smiled, clearly satisfied: "Well done, Lothíriel. Well done!".

They ate in silence for a while, Éomer taking great care of providing her with the best chunks of meat and roasted skin: he remembered how she liked it above all! She smiled at him and that moment, a profound peace settled on her, spreading through her veins and leaving her…happy. Simply, marvellously happy.

"Éomer?".

"Hm?".

"You know, I think that sooner or later, I'd have anyway come back to you. But things moved at a much faster pace, for on my last day with the crew I met somebody who helped me a great deal".

He sipped the ale and arched an eyebrow: "Who?".

"Two people, actually. One was Wídfara".

"You met Wídfara?".

"Yes. He came across the crew on his way to Pelargir and recognized Sparkler right away. It was good to meet him, to get tidings of Rohan and…well, you".

"You are telling me that after your father's men scouted Gondor almost inch by inch without ever finding a single track of you, Wídfara simply…found you by chance?".

"Precisely".

He shook his head: "Unbelievable. And who's the second person I shall thank for your anticipated appearance?".

She sighed and lowered her eyes on the almost empty plate: "Do you believe…do you think the spirit of the people who passed away might linger among us, Éomer?".

He frowned and stared back at her: "You mean like ghosts?".

"Yes! No!", she corrected herself, unsure what was the right answer.

"Yes or no?".

She huffed, struggling to find the right words, those which would not make her look like a complete fool: "After I met Wídfara, I felt restless. I needed some time to think and so I rode around with Sparkler. While we were in the woods nearby the camp, we met somebody: a hooded man sitting by a fire. I swear it, Éomer: one moment the forest was lonely and quiet, the next one flames were burning right in front of Sparkler's hoofs".

"How…".

"Wait, let me finish", she cut him short. "I can't explain it, Éomer. I was startled by this sudden encounter but Sparkler…I've learned to trust him and he was so…at ease. And so I sat by the fire and started to tell this man what was troubling me. I remember thinking that it was foolish to trust a stranger, that I shouldn't have been there, but at the same time it felt so right, so good. It was as if through his questions and comments, all those thoughts which had been chaotically floating in my mind started to click together and make sense".

She looked at him but he was still frowning: "I don't think I get it, Lothíriel".

"We never introduced each other, Éomer. But I remember clearly that as I was falling asleep by his fire, he came to me and called me by my name, my real name: _Lothíriel_! And when I looked up at him I finally recognized him...Gamling: it was him! I know, I know how it might sound", she added in a hurry: "The morning after, when the people from the crew found me, I wasn't even sure whether it had all been but a dream!".

"How do you know it wasn't?".

"Point one, because nobody saw him, nor me, nor the fire. When I failed to come back to my tent, they started searching for me and they didn't stop until they found me on the next morning. But I wasn't that far from the camp, Éomer: if that man was just a traveller, if his fire was just a normal fire, they would have found us. It was as if for that one night, we were both conceived from the rest of the world. Coming morning, there weren't even tracks of a fire. But without it, I would have surely frozen to death: I was wearing only a light cloak and had no blanket with me, yet I woke up feeling warm and rested, despite the frost covering the grass around me. How can you explain that?".

"And point two?", he asked back.

She stood and hurried to where their clothes laid together: it took her a moment to detangle them but finally she found the pocket of her skirt and, most importantly, its content. She walked back to the bed and sat next to Éomer: "Here", she said, opening her palm.

He looked at her hand, puzzled: "Gamling's red fox?".

"I had lost it, Éomer. Don't ask me how or when, for I don't remember. During my time in Lebennin I was keeping myself constantly numbed and I honestly don't know how I managed to lose something that meant so much for me. But I had lost it: since months. That morning in the woods, I woke up and there it stood, on the log on which the man had been sitting upon and suddenly…suddenly it all made sense: I knew who he was and I knew what I had to do. Less than an hour later, I was riding towards Rohan".

He carefully took the pawn and examined it closely: it looked ridiculously small in his big hands.

"I know it sounds crazy, Éomer. And before you ask: when I met _him_ , I had already been clean from the potion since two weeks. So, no: it wasn't an hallucination either".

"The tail…".

"…the tail is intact, I know!", she finished the sentence for him, relieved.

At first, she hadn't even noticed it. Only when she had stopped for the night after having left the crew, had her eyes caught the tiny detail: after many years of service, Gamling's old pawn had been missing the tip of the tail. But this one was intact instead, as if he had carved it anew just for her.

Éomer smiled. He put the fox back into her hand and pulled her in his lap, cradling her in his arms: "I guess that answers the question".

"Which question?", she asked, sinking in his warm embrace

"I have often wondered what his thoughts would have been about us being together. He knew me well and he knew you just as much…".

"I think…no, I know he would have been happy", she mumbled, holding the pawn to her chest and starting to feel drowsy.

"Yes. I also think so".

"What now, Éomer?", she asked, her eyes slowly closing.

"Now, you sleep. And tomorrow, we ride home".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** after so much angst and despair, Éomer and Lothíriel are finally reunited! Sorry for taking longer than usual at posting this chapter, but it was easy and complicated at the same time and I really wanted to get it right. Hopefully I managed! Next one will also take a bit of time as I haven't made up my mind yet whether I want to write another chapter plus an epilogue or just the epilogue instead. We will see what my muse says!

 _Cricket22:_ it was just too funny to think of Sparkler mistreating poor Naron, I could not resist! Glad to hear the chapter was among your favourite ones, for it wasn't easy to write, especially the part with Gamling. I didn't want to make it too obvious or blatant, but rather keep a thin veil of mystery on what exactly has happened. As per Lothíriel, no flair, rather a quiet sneaking, and the point is exactly that: having a private reunion without anybody knowing (well, almost). I don't know why, but I didn't want it to take place in Edoras (where Sparkler could have been easily recognized by some of the guards). I thought about Aldburg, but somehow the idea of a _nowhere place_ sounded nicer. As per her brothers, I guess that could have been a possible development. But at this point I was keen on having this long awaited reunion, so I went for the smooth ride instead. ;)

 _Koba_ : thank you so much! :) Yes, Naron was annoying, though he meant well. Despite what Túrel thought, they were simply ill-matched. As per Gamling, it was kind of a four-hands job, for the idea came after a suggestion from _Cricket22_. I loved it immediately: Gamling and Lothíriel had always been very close and if there was somebody who could reach her and talk her into doing the right thing, that was him.

 _Menelwen:_ she always had the answer, just needed to cool down and become aware of it. It's easy to do stupid things when we are angry: like pushing aside somebody we love or believing we can replace him with anybody else. The chances for things between Lothíriel and Naron to work out, were compromised from the very beginning. She might be wise, but she is still very young, so I believe it's understandable why she acted that way. Here there was a bit of Éomer's POV, more will come in the next chapter I think!

 _Wondereye:_ I guess I liked more the idea of Lothíriel deciding if and when she wanted to go back!

 _totheboats:_ happy you are liking the story! Éomer's cynic voice was real fun to write and because I was using it rather often, I decided to cut the "thought to himself", etc. Glad it was a good choice! Hope you will like the story's unfolding in the next chapters…


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

 _Rohan, April the 8_ _th_ _, 3021_

Lothíriel smoothed her skirt and turned towards the mirror: stunning, that riding outfit was simply stunning. "Are we sure Gytha isn't some kind of a sorceress?".

Éomer chuckled as he finished buckling his armour: "You should have seen the face of the rider who delivered the parcel earlier this morning. Gytha must have threatened him with unspeakable horrors, had he not managed to reach the village before we left".

"But how could she know…".

"How could she know that your clothes wouldn't have survived the night?", Éomer finished the sentence for her, a way too satisfied grin on his face.

She pointed at the broken laces of her old dress: "Precisely".

"She didn't. I hope so, at least. According to the rider, she decided that a more…Rohirric attire was needed for you return to Edoras. And so, as soon as you left the city, she stormed into the cottage of Aldburg's seamstress and ordered her to adjust one of her daughter's riding skirt so that it would fit you".

"And she knew my measures because…?".

Éomer snorted and stood behind her, his eyes scanning appreciatively her figure: "How am I supposed to know? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly an expert in such…matters".

"You may not be an expert at sewing a dress, but you do know how to ruin one!".

Éomer's grin grew even more: "And that's why I'd suggest that in the future you remove your clothes _before_ I join you in bed". His arms closed around her and his lips pressed gentle and yet suggestive kisses along her neck. Lothíriel smiled and leaned back.

To say that during her time in Edoras she had broken every single Gondorian rule as to how a proper, unmarried lady should behave, was an understatement. But there had always been such a sparkle between her Éomer, a way their bodies, their skin, would react to each other's touch, that she honestly didn't know how they had managed to keep themselves in check for so long. Actually, she did know: Éomer's sense of honour and his respect for her father had always found a way to stop him before it was too late. And in a sense, she was glad for it. Had she known how making love with Éomer would have been like, she would have _never_ left Edoras, she would have _never_ agreed to a ridiculous one year engagement. And who knew what would have happened then!

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and closed her eyes: Éomer's hands caressed her body, his lips moved down to her throat and she could feel her body awakening again to his touch: _maybe we could stay here for a while longer. Edoras can wait for a few hours…_

She was already considering the idea of following Éomer's advise and unfastening her dress, when he abruptly released her and stepped back, mumbling something that sounded like a curse. She stumbled back and turned, confused.

He gave her an apologetic look: "I shouldn't have been so keen at wearing my armour this morning. Trust me, this could be very…uncomfortable", he said, waving his hand at the lower part of his body.

She looked at him up and down, confusion quickly turning into understanding and understanding swiftly muting into smugness: "Is that so?", she asked, savouring the way his expression went from sorrowful to horrified.

He hastily collected his sword and cloak and, keeping himself at a safe distance, he made for the door: "I will wait for you downstairs, yes?", he asked, already stepping into the corridor.

"As you wish, my Lord", she replied, her voice low and meaningful.

The door shut closed and the sound of his booted steps mixed with a new string of curses. She laughed: life was never going to be boring with Éomer!

Lothíriel braided her hair and gave herself a last look in the mirror: the riding skirt Gytha had sent was beautiful. Beautiful in a very Rohirric way: simple, practical and elegant at the same time. It highlight her slender waist and long neck while effectively making her look taller – or, better said, less short than she truly was.

At last satisfied, she headed downstairs.

Bathed in the morning light and void of any people, the tavern looked barely like the same place she had struggled to cross only a few hours earlier. Only one thing hadn't changed: Éothain. He waited at the bottom of the stairs, roughly in the same spot she had left him on the evening before. He stood stiff and uptight, as if he had spent the whole night in that position and caught no sleep at all.

"Captain", she greeted him.

He spun around: "My Lady", he said, bowing so low that she though he would have toppled over. "Please accept my apologies for my deplorable behaviour of yesterday. I hadn't recognized you and was only trying to do my job…".

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him: though she hadn't understood what exactly he and Elfhelm had been laughing about the night before, she had caught a word. And Éomer had reluctantly provided her with the translation: _flea_. They had called her _flea._ Éothain had called his future Queen, _flea._

"By shoving a woman that way?", she inquired him, her tone admirably neutral despite a barely contained laughter.

A strangled sound came from the bended form of Éothain: "M-My Lady…".

She had planned on savouring a lengthy, merciless retaliation against the Captain, but now that she looked at him, stammering, his head soon to touch the floor, she didn't have the heart for it: "It's Lothíriel".

He lifted his head, puzzled.

"You've always called me Lothíriel. You don't need to change now. And Éothain?".

"Yes?".

"I sincerely hope you will keep guarding his door the same way in the future. I wouldn't want any woman to try sneaking into his room whenever we are apart…", she said, winking mischievously.

His eyes widened and then slowly, gradually, his tensed body relaxed and his lips curved into a liberating laughter: "Bema, Lothíriel. It's good to have you back!", he said, pulling her into a bear hug.

"And it's good to be back, Éothain!".

He rested a hand on his chest and breathed deeply: "You almost got me there. I was already preparing to be banished from Rohan. I don't think Heruwyn would have been amused".

"Don't exaggerate, Éothain. In the end, all you did was liken me to an annoying, teeny insect. Nothing too grave!".

His face turned to purple: "You heard me?".¨

"Clearly I did".

He swallowed, his brow sweating: "Any chance this could stay between us?".

She snorted: "Now, let's not ask for too much!".

"Gracious as usual. Can I maybe make amends by offering you some breakfast?", he proposed.

"No, but thank you. I will manage until lunch". She patted his shoulder and looked around: "Now: where is Éomer?.

* * *

The sky was clear, not even one single cloud staining its bright blue. The sun shone over their heads, warming their ride through the brisk, cool morning air. He smiled as he noticed Lothíriel turning in her saddle and looking around her with shiny eyes. Urging Firefoot forward, he flanked her: "What is it?".

She flushed, ever so slightly: "Nothing. Leave it be, you will think me an idiot!", she hurried to say.

He raised an eyebrow: "I beg your pardon?".

She huffed and a lovely, deeper blush spread on her cheeks: "It's just…I've ridden with you and your men before, but never with an entire Éored".

"…and?".

"And I don't know, it's hard to explain!".

"Try".

She frowned, chewing on her lower lip: "You know, back in Dol Amroth, whenever my father's army was leaving the city, I would always stand on the battlements and observe them riding away. And I always felt my heart swelling with pride, I felt a sense of belonging, I felt those men were part of the Amrothian landscape as much as the ocean lapping our coasts. And looking at your men now, here, it kind of feels the same, it's…".

"Exciting?", he suggested.

"See, you are making fun of me!".

He laughed heartily and leaned to press a kiss on her cheek: "Come, I was merely jesting! You're their Queen, Lothíriel. Trust me that they are as proud of you as you are of them".

"Well, I'm not technically their Queen. Not yet".

He waved a hand as to dismiss her comment: "We are practical people, Lothíriel. The moment we enter Edoras together, nobody will care about what's official and what's not. And anyway", he added with a grin, "I'm planning to set things right as soon as possible!".

"Ah well, that's nice of you to let me know! Any date set that I shall be informed about?".

"Were it possible, I'd marry you right here and right now, Lothíriel. Alas, being royalty has its cons. I will need to speak with the Council and, let's not forget, with Birthwyn: if I don't give her enough time to organize a proper celebration, she will serve my head at the banquet. And most of all", he added, turning serious, "we need your father: we shall write him as soon as we get to Edoras".

Lothíriel laughed nervously: "Ah, yes. About that…".

"What?", he asked, his armour inexplicably feeling very tight around his neck.

"While riding towards Rohan, I crossed some Amrothian merchants. They were riding back home and so I took the chance to pen a short letter to my father and asked them to deliver it to the palace".

He halted Firefoot, his hands sweaty: "When was this?".

"A few days ago. I think father shall receive the letter any of these days, if he hasn't already…".

"Meaning we can expect him to be here in less than a fortnight?", he asked, his voice strangled.

"It's plausible, yes. I'm sorry Éomer, but I wanted him to know I was fine".

He rubbed his eyes: _a fortnight or two makes no difference, Éomer. Breathe, just breathe. All will be fine, Imrahil is a wise man, he will eventually understand. Yes, he will. And then Amrothos and Erchirion will skin me alive, but that's another problem…_

"Are we stopping, Éomer King?".

His eyes snapped open and he found Ceorl looking at him, confused. The rest of his Éored waited ahead, the riders shifting in their saddle to see what was going on and why had he suddenly halted.

 _Stopping?! I don't think so! Terrible, awful idea!_ "No, Ceorl. We ride: the sooner we get to Edoras, the better".

"Yes, my Lord".

"Ah, and Ceorl".

"Yes?".

"Do me a favour: ride to Aldburg and tell Elfhelm to keep his eyes open towards the South. I want to know at least one day in advance when to expect the Prince of Dol Amroth and his…family".

Lothíriel crossed her arms and gave him a sceptical look: "Really, Éomer? Don't you think you are exaggerating?".

"Nothing against your father, Lothíriel. Your brothers though, they are a whole different matter. You do remember what happened when you chased me and they caught up with us, yes?".

"Not really".

"You don't remember?!", he asked incredulous.

Lothíriel lowered her eyes: "I don't remember much of that day, Éomer".

He mentally cursed himself: "I'm sor…".

"Don't", she stopped him, raising a hand towards him. "You apologized and I apologized. No need to keep doing it over and over again. But now I'm curious", she said, her eyes narrowing, "What exactly happened? I remember Erchirion dragging me out of the carriage and I remember somebody holding Amrothos".

He nodded: "Yes. Erchirion didn't say a word, but gave me a look that spoke in volumes. Amrothos charged sword in hand: Herubrand had to disarm him and block him, least Rohan would have lost yet another King on Gondorian ground. Then he started yelling and listing all the ways he intended to kill me: needless to say, it was a long, gruesome list!".

Lothíriel sighed and shook her head: "We have always been very close and of all my brothers, he is the most impetuous one. Elphir is the heir and has been thought in the ways of diplomacy since he was a child. Erchirion has long traded and negotiated for Dol Amroth and is used to think before speaking or acting. But Amrothos…I will speak to him, Éomer. I can't promise he will forgive you, but I will see that he doesn't try to assassinate you at least".

"Well, that's a relief!", he joked, trying to ease the atmosphere.

The rest of the day went on smoothly: more than once he found himself slowing down so that he could ride in the rear of the group and observe Lothíriel as she chatted with his men. Clad in her Rohirric outfit, riding at ease on Sparkler as if she had been born on his saddle, he couldn't help but thinking that _she_ belonged to Rohan's plains just as much as he did. And it was _his_ heart's turn to swell with pride, for this woman was to be his wife, the mother of his children and, incidentally, the Queen of his people. _Their_ people.

Earlier that morning, when the first rays of sun had filtered through the window, he had almost feared it had all been but a dream. And when a light weight on his chest and a tickling of hair on his sides had told him that no, that was no dream, he had held her tight, wondering how unbelievably lucky he had been.

Lucky to have had an advisor like Gamling, who had brought Lothíriel into Edoras and so into his life. Lucky that she hadn't let herself be fooled by the _grumpy King_ , that she had been willing to look beyond it, to understand rather than to judge. Lucky because she could have died that night in Meduseld, hadn't it been for Gamling's strenuous defence and for his guards rushing to her just in time. Lucky because she was as much of a fighter as any of his men, never surrendering no matter the hurdles. Lucky because he would be dead, if it wasn't for her and the risks she took just to save his life. Lucky because she had found in herself the strength to forgive him, because once again she had understood him like no others had ever done.

He held tight on Firefoot's reins, trying to resist the urge to snap her form her saddle, gallop at full speed back to the inn, lock the door behind them, tear that pretty dress of her and make love to her for… _well,_ _eternity would do, I guess._

He felt a stir in his groin and shifted uncomfortably in his saddle: he shouldn't think of her while riding, not in those terms at least.

 _Amrothos. Yes, Éomer: think of Amrothos._

* * *

 _Edoras._

Lothíriel eased Sparkler and took a moment to enjoy the glorious view in front of their eyes: the afternoon sun shone glaringly on the Golden Hall, making it look like the jewel it was. The air was perfectly clear, the White Mountains towering over the city in all their imposing splendour. The waters of the Snowbourn glittered and filled the valley with their gentle rumble.

A shiver run down her spine and she smiled broadly: _Home!_

She turned towards Éomer and found him staring at her: "Ride with me, Lothíriel".

Effortlessly, he pulled her in his saddle and waited until she had found a comfortable position and adjusted her skirt: "Nervous?".

"A bit. But mostly, and do not dare laughing: excited and happy!".

"That makes two of us", he said, urging Firefoot forward.

As the group sped towards the city, she leaned back against Éomer's chest and tried to take in everything of that moment, for something told her that in the years to come, it would turn into one of those precious memories to be jealously guarded: Éomer's solid frame behind her, his arm around her waist, the smell of grass, the sound of the horns…

She straightened up as they passed through the gates, her eyes scanning attentively their surroundings; people were pouring on the streets, all wishing to bid their welcome to the King and his men: their eyes widened, stupor their first reaction at the sight of a woman sharing the King's saddle. And then, some of them started to recognize her, their hands waving, the smile on their faces open and true.

 _Home!_

She laughed and waved her hand back at a group of children, recognizing right away the little girl at the front: she had offered her a little bunch of pink cyclamens once, wishing her a prompt recovery after the attempted assassination. Her mother stood just a few paces behind her and bowed her head when their eyes met, her hand moving to rest on her heart.

A thick crowd, growing even thicker by the minute, was now trailing behind the group of riders. Stretching impatiently in the saddle, Lothíriel managed to get a glimpse of Birthwyn standing on the terrace. Even though they were too far to hear what she was saying, she knew she was barking some orders, for the maids around her hastily run back inside, presumably on a quest for a second Royal welcoming cup.

Éomer halted Firefoot at the feet of the stairs and swiftly dismounted. His big hands on her waist, he lowered her to the ground and shielded her from the prying eyes of the excited citizens with the bulk of his body: "Ready?".

"Ready".

Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs. Birthwyn waited for them at the top, Maegwen on one side and another maid on the other: "Welcome back, Éomer King".

She waited until he had drunk his cup and then her eyes turned on her. Her face might have looked impassive to someone who didn't know her, but she recognized the sparkle in her eyes, the twitching of the corners of her mouth: "Welcome to Edoras, Princess Lothíriel".

Éomer waited until she had drunk her mead and then gently stirred her towards the front of the terrace: the whole city lied at their feet, the eyes of every single person fixed on them, a palpable excitement charging the air. For a moment, she thought he would have said something solemn, but she should have known better: he pulled her to him, his lips descending on hers in one of those searing kisses that, she was sure, would always leave her breathless and boneless.

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar and after a moment of hesitation, her arms closed around his neck and she eagerly kissed him back: "Scoundrel", she whispered when his lips left hers.

"I don't know how you could expect anything else of me", he said, grinning broadly. "Now come, let us go inside: there are more than a few people who wishes to properly greet you".

They crossed the terrace and when the doors of the Golden Hall finally closed behind them, she realized the whole household was standing there, right in front of them, the dark alley unusually silent and quiet. For a moment, nobody spoke nor move. Then, Maegwen stepped forward, and it was as if the sound of her steps had broken the spell. One after the other, all the friends she had made in Meduseld, may them be maids, cooks or guards, stepped forward to bid her their welcome. Éomer pressed a light kiss on her head and quietly disappeared, leaving her to enjoy that long awaited reunion.

She was already starting to feel overwhelmed, when Birthwyn unceremoniously pushed her way through the crowd and stood in front of her, hands on her hips, her thunderous expression quickly melting: "Ah damn it all, I'm too happy to see you to be angry!", she said, pulling her into a tight, crushing hug. "But don't you ever dare disappearing like that again!".

She laughed softly, trying to push back the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes: "I'm sorry, Birthwyn".

"You should be! We were so worried, we didn't…".

A high pitch cry cut her short: "WHERE IS SHE?!". The doors banged open and the guards standing by jumped back, taken aback by that sudden entry. Holdwyn strode in, her hair a mess, her green eyes ablaze and her finger pointing menacingly at her: "YOU!".

Lothíriel stared at her finger and instinctively took a step back, suddenly realizing everybody around her was quickly dispersing. Birthwyn patted her shoulder and from behind her, Walda threw her an encouraging look. She swallowed as they also disappeared: _cowards!_

Holdwyn advanced or, better said, charged towards her: "You…you reckless, insane, mad woman! You have any idea how scared I was?!".

Lothíriel raised her hands in front of her, trying to calm her: "I'm sorry, Holdwyn…".

"That's not enough!".

"I-I should have sent news…".

"You should have, yes! I helped you out and then you just vanished! I would have never forgiven myself, had something happened to you! It would…", she swallowed, tears starting to form in her eyes, "It would have all been my fault!", she cried , throwing her arms around her neck, her anger melting into an uncontrollable sobbing.

Lothíriel cursed herself: _stupid, stupid Lothíriel!_

Running away the way she did, had looked exciting. But in the thrill of the moment, she had been blind to her selfishness, her carelessness. For months, while travelling around with the _Goulding's Crew_ , her only concern had been not being found, so that her little adventure could go on for a while longer. Never, not even once had she considered the idea of putting an end to the misery her family and friends were going through. She could have written them a letter, she could have reassured them that she was alive and well. But she had been too focus on herself to even care.

She gently cradled Holdwyn in her arms: "Nothing would have been your fault, Holdwyn. What you did for me…I shall never forget it. If it wasn't for you and Lamhel, I would have never been here today".

Holdwyn tried to wipe off her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress: "Your aunt was so angry with us! Once it became clear you had run off, she had me and Lamhel locked in the Palace. She was beyond devastated, Lothíriel. She even imprisoned Éomer King for two days!".

She blinked: "What?".

Holdwyn nodded, unsuccessfully trying to stop crying, her hands visibly shaking: "Oh my, I'm a weeping mess these days!".

Walda sneaked out from behind a pillar, a suspiciously concerned expression on his face: "Why don't you sit down, Holdwyn?", he suggested, passing her some water and helping her on a chair. He kneeled by her side, his hand gently stroking her stomach.

Lothíriel stared at his hand: "Hold on you two: is there something I should know?".

"Yes", Holdwyn said, holding the mug with both hands and sniffing up, her lower lip trembling, "that pregnancy is awful!".

* * *

Éomer stared transfixed at a solitary drop of sweat slowly making its way down Lothíriel's neck, taking speed as it slid between her breasts. He leaned back, holding her firmly by her thighs, his knees rubbing against the sheets of the bed: _that_ had to be the sweetest kind of torture ever devised.

Lothíriel's legs were firmly wrapped around his waist, her movements excruciatingly slow. She lifted herself up and then descended on him, moaning softly every time she took him once again inside her.

He threw his head back and shut closed his eyes, every single muscle of his body tensed. He felt her moving once more upwards and rocked his hips forwards, desperate to thrust again into her. But she eluded him instead, a hand holding on his shoulder for balance and the other tangling in his hair: she arched her back and moved further her hips, until he was almost completely out of her. He held his breath and when she finally came down on him again, he exhaled, his whole body trembling with desire.

Again and again she moved, her pace totally unaffected by his silent plea, until he felt he could take no more. He opened his eyes and found her staring at him, brazenly relishing in the power she could exert on him. His nostrils flared and he snapped, bringing her with him as he rolled them over, until he had her pinned under him: "Minx", he whispered, holding her wrists above her head.

Blood pumped through his veins and he took a moment to savour that moment, the anticipation of what was to come. And then he thrusted into her. Once, twice, mesmerized by the sight of her, by the way she arched her back, by the way she cried his name, by the way her hips moved to meet his. Everything about her fuelled his desire for her, to the point it felt like a physical need, to the point being inside her was just as vital as breathing.

More. He needed more of her.

Releasing her wrists, he hooked her legs on his shoulders and leaned forward against the headboard of the bed. He thrusted again, deeper this time. Lothíriel gasped, and the last thing he could remember, was her soft voice begging him for more. After that, they were both lost.

It wasn't until later that night, that he finally recovered his ability to put one word after the other to form a coherent sentence. He pulled her to him and gently stroke her back: "Don't worry for tomorrow, Lothíriel. We will manage, just like we always did".

The light of the candles flickered and a cool breeze swept the room from the open window: "I know. I guess I'm just looking forward to see my family but, at the same time, I'm afraid what they will say, what they will do".

He sighed.

The days after their arrival in Edoras, had passed in a blur.

On his side, he had wasted no time. Soon after their entrance in the Golden Hall, he had collected his Council members and informed them about of the upcoming wedding. He could swear that a collective sigh of relief had passed through them. Actually, the whole Edoras seemed to have sighed in relief and, true to their reputations, his people had made no efforts at conceiving their hopes for a heir to soon join the Royal family. The more discreet of them had limited themselves to meaningful glances. Others had _very_ openly voiced their wishes, causing an enormous amount of blushing on Lothíriel's side.

He grinned: well, sure enough they were putting their best efforts at succeeding!

Blushing aside, it hadn't taken more than a few days for Lothíriel to settle again in Meduseld. And then, it had felt as if time had been turned back to those last weeks they had spent in Edoras a year before, when the future had seemed as bright as ever.

Only one thing had been nibbling at Lothíriel's mind and so at his: the lack of any response from her father. A month had passed by, and no swan banner had been spotted on the Great West Road, no letter had come from Dol Amroth. And yet Imrahil must have known: if not through Lothíriel's letter, then through Aragorn and Éowyn, to whom he had sent a courier on the very same day of their return to Edoras. Lothíriel had also sent him a second letter, but that as well had gone unanswered. Which always brought them back to the same question: where was Imrahil?

One week earlier, Lothíriel had written him a third letter. And though it was too early to expect an answer, he had seen her growing more and more nervous for each day that passed. Finally, when earlier that day a rider from Aldburg had rushed through the gates to inform them that the Amrothian party had been spotted, he had seen her sighing in relief one moment, tensing the next, her mind already running and fretting to what was coming next.

She had spent the rest of the day meticulously preparing everything, hurrying from one corner of the Golden Hall to the other and driving Birthwyn and everybody else mad. Three times she had checked that the guest rooms had been properly prepared; twice she had stormed in the kitchen to ensure a fitting dinner would be prepared; four times she had descended in the cellars, each time changing her mind on what was the most appropriate beverage to offer. Typical Rohirric ale? A local white wine? Or maybe one of the Gondorian imported red wines that her father liked so much?

It had been there that he had found her when, after discovering their bedroom disappointingly empty, he had gone searching for her. Seeing that convincing her that all was ready and that there was nothing more she could do was totally pointless, he had simply lifted her over his shoulders and carried her to their bed, much to the amusement of the rest of the household.

As for him, though he had been anxious about finally confronting Imrahil, now that the moment was only hours away, he found himself surprisingly calm. Not that he expected it to be easy nor pleasant, but at this stage he simply knew that he wouldn't have let anyone take Lothíriel away from him. Not even her father. And if that meant breaking a bunch of diplomacy rules, then be it! She belonged to him as much as he belonged to her. More than that: even though he would have thought it impossible, the love they felt for each other had actually come out strengthened by the events of the past months.

When she had first come to Edoras, Lothíriel had been barely more than a girl, and he had been nothing more than the notorious _grumpy King_. Together, despite falls and mishaps, they had changed, they had grown into better individuals. It had taken them to almost loose each other and now that they were finally reunited, there was no way he would have allowed _anyone_ to tear them apart.

He shifted so that he could look into her eyes: "I won't allow anybody to take you away from me. Whether we will manage to convince your father or not, I will marry you anyway, Lothíriel".

She shifted and pulled a blanket over her legs: "I know that, but I'd like my family to accept things and…well, be happy for me, for us. I don't want everything that has happened, everything that I have done, to compromise things with them".

"All will be good. You'll see, one way or the other, I will even win back your brothers' trust!", he declared solemnly, earning a loud snort.

"Be specific: _which_ brother are we talking about?".

He chuckled: "Well, let me put it this way: after much consideration, I've reached the conclusion that settling things with your brothers won't be the hardest task when it comes to your family".

"Meaning?".

"Meaning your aunt. Honestly, I'm not sure she will ever forgive me, nor Holdwyn or Lady Lamhel".

Lothíriel sighed and snuggled closer to him: "I couldn't believe it: when Holdwyn told me how she kept you locked in a dark cellar for two days, how she ordered her to ride to Rohan with you, how she told Lamhel she wasn't welcome to stay with her anymore…I just couldn't believe it. I wrote her a letter weeks ago but…but I'm not sure she will answer, I think she will be disappointed to learn I'm here".

"Disappointed?".

"Yes. She has always prided herself for being independent, for never bending to the will of the men around her. I think she will think me weak for having come back to you. I don't know whether she will ever understand that it actually took me more strength and courage to do so rather than keep running away".

"You think she might be coming with your father?".

"No, she has never been one for travelling".

"Then we shall travel to her. How about having a summer vacation to Dol Amroth and Lebennin?".

Lothíriel tenderly caressed his cheek: "I'd like that. Very much".

* * *

 **Author's notes:** so sorry for the awful delay! Half of my colleagues went on holiday and as soon as they left, an enormous amount of projects landed (quite literally) on our desks. I've been terribly busy and honestly didn't have the time nor the mind to write anything close to decent.

I have always found extremely difficult to write endings and epilogues, so I've struggled a lot to put together this chapter. Hopefully it was _ok_ to read (I doubt it was any better than that…). Next will be the epilogue but again, it might take a while to come: workload is still crazy and this month I will be spending some time in the US visiting a friend, so I'm afraid I won't be able to write too much.

 _Doria Nell_ : so happy you liked it, for it was hard to write! Next chapter will be the epilogue of the story, I'm afraid. However, I'm planning to post a few one-shots in a separate story about this Éomer-Lothíriel couple and their friends. At the same time, I can't exclude the idea of a sequel: I've been thinking about it, but that will take time to come (IF it will come, that is). I feel like I need a break from this story and these characters and I'm keen on actually starting another story, also about Éomer and Lothíriel but very different from this one!

 _Cricket22:_ in the end I went for chapter + epilogue. I guess it felt right to give some space to their return to Edoras and to the reunion with all the people there. Only Imrahil is now missing but that will be clearly covered in the epilogue, so to wrap all loose ends. I've been toying with the idea of the crew travelling to Rohan and I can't exclude it won't be part of a one shot, but I didn't feel up to include it in here. At the same time, having a half-mind of writing a sequel in a few months, I'm reluctant at jumping ahead in time to have Lothíriel giving birth to Rohan's heir. I was very unsure about last chapter, so I'm very glad you've liked it! :)

 _Wondereye_ : *sighing in relief* was very apprehensive about that chapter, which makes your review even more welcome than usual!

 _Menelwen:_ the request will be fulfilled in the epilogue, I promise that! Yes, the end is indeed very near, but with the prospect of a one-shots series, a possible sequel and another story I want to start writing as soon as possible, hopefully it won't be too bad! ;) thanks for the suggested song, quite fitting!

 _silverswath:_ critics are more than welcome, at least I get to know how to improve! I'm sorry to hear you've been disappointed by these last few chapters, and even more I'm sorry to read about your motives, for it really means I haven't managed to convey some few points. With respect to getting off from the potion, Lothíriel explains at various stages of the story that she was still relying heavily on it in the first two weeks after she run away. In the following three months she kept using it at night, for otherwise she wouldn't have been able to sleep. Then for a month or so, she starts gradually quitting. It honestly felt like a likely timeline to me, though I chose not to spend too much words on it. As for the lovable people, yes: that was a stroke of luck. Lastly, your point about Lothíriel feeling no remorse at all, which really puzzles me. Though it took her time to understand it, she knows she behaved selfishly. She spoke about it with Gamling, she apologized to Éomer mentioning she shouldn't have put him and her family through so much anguish. And as it became clear in this chapter, she also took care of informing her father she was fine before riding to Rohan. She most definitely feels remorse for what she has done! As per doing it in the first place, she is not perfect and has her flaws, as we all do (me for sure!).

 _Guest:_ we will see how the long awaited confrontation with Imrahil goes in the next chapter! ;)


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

 _Edoras, May the 10_ _th_ _, 3021_

Edoras had awoken under a dark, bleak grey sky. Fog rose from the surface of the Snowbourn, turning the green valley into a white, gloomy expanse. Normally, she would have enjoyed it, just like she enjoyed watching the storms battering the palace in Dol Amroth. But today, the weather just added to her anxiety.

The thought of her family and especially of her father had weighted heavily on her over the past month. She had spent entire nights staring into the darkness, asking herself how could have she been so thoughtless. She did not regret having run away, on the contrary: it had been just what she had needed. But things could have been done differently, she could have found a way to let them know she was alive and well.

But she hadn't.

Just the thought of what her father must have gone through, was crushing. She remembered once, many years before, when the ship Elphir had been sailing on had gone missing. She had a vivid memory of those days, of the angst, of the silent dinners, of the time spent staring at the horizon. It had felt as if the whole Palace had been holding its breath, and only when Elhpir's ship was finally spotted, had life gone back to normal. Four days: he had been delayed of four days due to the hull of his ship been damaged during a storm, and yet those four days had felt like an endless agony.

She had been gone for months.

Sighing impatiently, she leaned over and followed with her eyes the road leading to the gates: it curved gently and at the far corner, it rounded a cottage. When she had first arrived in Edoras, it had been in a poor state. But it had been renovated during the past summer, its roof built anew, and though she could not see it from there, she knew the inside had been largely improved as well, turning it into a cozy, warm house. Holdwyn had been overly excited when she had showed her the place.

She stared at the corner of the cottage, wishing it wasn't there. Had it been built somewhere else, she could already see it: the Amrothian party, with her father at the front, making their way towards Meduseld.

By her side stood Éomer, his eyes too fixed on the same spot: if he was nervous, he was hiding it well. Indeed, he looked like the epitome of the King of Rohan. The day someone would weave a tapestry to celebrate Éomer Éadig, that was how he was going to be depicted. A red tunic with gold embroideries, a dark green cloak, his hair loose on his shoulders, his expression calm, proud and intense at once. And then there was her: the portrait of anxiety, barely able to resist the urge to pace up and down the terrace, her hands nervously clasped together one moment, checking her hair for the umpteenth time the next.

As if her father would care about her hair.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to regain some sort of confidence. It was then that Éomer gently nudged her: her eyes snapped open and finally, she saw _him_. Atop his grey stallion, her father was rounding the corner. He lead his horse to the foot of the stairs and dismounted: he passed the reins to a stablehand, barely acknowledging him, and then he turned, his eyes locking on hers. He climbed the stairs and for each step he made, the enormity of her actions became even more overwhelming.

The first thing she noticed, were his hair. She thought back of the day she had left Dol Amroth: he had kissed her cheeks and hugged her tight before helping her on the carriage that would have brought her to her aunt. _We will see each other_ soon, he had told her, forcing a smile despite the concern in his eyes. He had been wearing a black tunic, a perfect match for his dark hair. There had been a few silver lines, but not too many. Now, it seemed like the situation had reversed.

Next, was the way he moved. Though there was still that innate grace in his movements, something else was there as well. A tiredness, a weariness. And only a few steps from the top, she realized he must have lost weight. The armour conceived it well enough but he was clean shaved and so there was nothing that could hide his sunken cheeks, nor the deep lines crossing his handsome face.

As he reached the terrace, Birthwyn stepped forward: "Here, my Lady", she said, pushing a small cup into her hands.

Standing in front of her, his expression inscrutable, her father waited. Lothíriel swallowed and tried to raise the cup towards him, but her hands were shaking, the mead spilling and staining the sleeves of her crimson dress. Éomer tried to help but her father moved faster, his hands closing around hers: he took the cup, drunk its content and passed it back to Birthwyn.

She was supposed to officially welcome him, but words wouldn't come out of her mouth. "Welcome to Edoras, Imrahil", Éomer came to her rescue.

Her father barely glanced at him, his eyes still boring into her. She swallowed again: her throat felt like the Harad desert. "Welcome to Edoras, father", she managed to get out.

Without saying a word, he walked past them and strode inside the Golden Hall.

She observed him disappearing inside and exchanged a hesitant look with Éomer and Birthwyn. Then, a hand reached for her shoulder. She snapped around and couldn't hide her surprise when she saw him: Elphir. She hadn't expected him to be there, she had thought he would have stayed in Dol Amroth, she had expected only Amrothos and Erchirion to join her father on the long journey towards Rohan. And yet there he stood.

"Sister", he greeted her. She glanced behind him and he guessed her thoughts: "I'm afraid I'm the only brother you'll get to see. Erchirion was at sea when your letter came. As per Amrothos, he…decided not to come".

Once again, she was short of words.

"He will need time, Lothíriel".

"I…yes, o-of course", she stammered. He offered her his arms and together they strode towards the hall. Once inside, she stopped: "I'm glad you came, Elphir. It's good to see you".

"Likewise, sister".

There was much she wished to tell him, but right then she saw a young guard approaching them, a puzzled expression on his face: "My Lady, the Prince asked me to tell you that he would wait for you in the library and that he wishes to speak to you…alone", he finished, throwing a nervous look towards Éomer.

She nodded: "Of course. I shall go to him immediately".

She hurried through the corridors, her steps quick, and as she finally stood in front of the door of the library, she felt almost nauseous. She tried to shake aside the feeling and entered the room: her father stood by the window, hands behind his back, looking at the white sea of fog covering the plains like an impalpable blanket. He turned as he heard the door cracking open: crossing the room in a few, long strides, he towered over her with a deep frown on his face. Lothíriel hesitated, but then he pulled her to him, holding her almost painfully against his armoured chest.

Her arms locked around him and she angrily pushed back the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes: she was responsible for all for this, and she was not going to cry!

As abruptly as it had started, it ended: he released her and stepped back, his eyes misty but angry at the same time. "How?! How could you do such thing?!", he spat out.

"I am sorry, father".

"I did not ask for your apologies, not yet at least! I'm asking you how could you run away the way you did! Without a letter, without a word. Do you know what it feels like, to not know? To not know whether your daughter is alive or dead? Whether she is in peril, whether she has been abducted, or worse! Whether maybe she wishes to come back but she can't, and you are helpless, useless, you can't do a thing!".

"You have never been us…".

"I was! We all were! You made us that way! You have any idea what your brothers went through? Amrothos spent two consecutive months scouting Gondor searching for you. When he came back, for days he barely spoke a word!".

Lothíriel bit her lip: "Elphir said he refused to come…".

"Of course he did! He spent months desperately looking for you, blaming himself for not having come with you to aunt Irviniel. One night, I found him completely drunk in my study: he thought you dead, Lothíriel. He was sure of it, and you know why? _She might have been silly enough to run away, but she wouldn't be so careless as to leave us worrying for so long_. That's what he told me, Lothíriel!".

"But I was. Careless, selfish".

"Why? Have we given you any reason to behave that way? Do you really not care at all about us, about me, your brothers, your aunt!".

"No, father! Of course I do!", she hurried to say.

"Then how could you flee that way?!".

"I had to get away, father. The way I did it, that was…unforgivable, selfish, stupid. If I could turn back time, I would find a way to let you know I was fine. But I would still run".

"We are not talking of some childish escaped, Lothíriel! Had you come back in a few days, I'd have understood. But you were gone for six months: six!", he cried, his face red.

"I know. And I've needed every single day of those six months".

"Why?", he yelled.

"It had nothing to do with you, father. Please don't think I did what I did because of you, because you had been lacking in any way. You've been the best father a daughter could ask for, but that day, after I confronted Éomer, I felt…lost, I didn't know what my place was anymore. But I knew I wouldn't find the answer at home. I am not trying to justify the fact that I kept you worrying for me, for that can't be justified, can't be excused. I'm only trying to explain why I left, why everything went down that way".

"Then try harder, Lothíriel", he hissed.

Her hands still shaky, she moved to the window: the fog had thickened, engulfing the streets and cloaking the buildings in the lower part of the city. "When Éomer accused me of being responsible for his situation, I believed him. I regretted it all: meddling in Lord Arondir's business, going to Rohan, taking over Erchirion's role during the war. The stupid little Princess who thought too much of herself. I felt like there was a hole inside me and I tried to fill it the way I could. I numbed myself to the point of forgetting it all. And then, Éomer showed up again and what was I supposed to do? Had I been a weaker person, I'd have fallen in his arms and forgot it all. Had I been a stronger person, I'd have come back home and found a way out of my self-imposed misery. I wasn't. Right then, all I wished for was to forget who I was, to leave everything behind: I went under a false name, found myself an occupation, pretended to be who I wasn't. And it took me weeks, months to realize the cowardice of my flight, the selfishness of my silence".

"And yet you don't regret it", he growled back.

"The escape? No. Only my silence: I should have thought about it, I should have found a way to reassure you all. I was focused on myself, on not being found, on forgetting all about Lothíriel so that the past could not harm me anymore. It's stupid, irrational, cruel, I see it now. But at the time, it felt like the only way I had to move forward".

He sighed: "Why, Lothíriel? What have you found in…where? Where have you been?".

"I never left Gondor. I joined a touring theatre company, the _Goulding's Crew_ was his name, and kept moving around with them".

He kept silent for a moment, as if trying to assimilate that new piece of information: "A theatre company?! And what have you found _there_ that you couldn't find anywhere else? That you couldn't find at home?".

"The chance to rebuilt the trust in myself, in who I was. Alone. The opportunity to understand people aren't always black and white: they do mistakes, awful mistakes, and are left living with the consequences for the rest of their life".

"Like Éomer?".

"Like Éomer, like myself. Anger, hurt…they are like a thick fog: they cloud your judgment, they make you feel as if you are alone in your pain. You wander through the mist and once it lifts off, you realize how far you have strayed from your path, you realize the consequences of your actions, you realize you were never alone in the first place. I can't change the past, father. I would if I could, for I have caused you great pain. I know it and I see it", she said, raising a hand to brush his silver hair. "You were right, by running away without leaving any track behind, I made you all helpless, and I can't even start to imagine what you went through. Now, it's my turn to be helpless, for all I can do is tell you that I am sorry, that I am ashamed of what I did and that I hope that you'll be able to forgive me one day", she said, bowing her head and staring at the rug-covered floor. "Just, please: do not hold anybody but me responsible for what I did. Éomer, he…he did wrong, but…".

"But you came back to him regardless" he cut her short.

She straightened up and looked at him: "I love him, father. And I understand why he acted that way, why he told me those things. I forgave him and if anything, it made me love him even more".

An uncomfortable silence descended in the room and then, suddenly, her father turned around and strode out of the room. She winced as the door shut closed and stared at it for a moment, before heavily falling on a chair, one silent tear crossing her cheek.

* * *

Frustrated, Éomer crumped the umpteenth piece of paper: if he continued at that pace, Edoras would run out of parchment before dusk. He grabbed the quill but before he could manage to write anything, the door banged open: Imrahil charged in the room and took place in the chair on the other side of his desk, clearly ignoring his attempt to stand up and greet him.

He stood nonetheless: "Did you speak with Lothíriel?".

"Whether I speak or not with my daughter, it's none of your business, _King_ ".

Éomer breathed deeply: he couldn't say the Prince's hostility was unexpected, nor undeserved. He wasn't a father – not yet at least, but it didn't take much imagination to know that in Imrahil's shoes, he would have been far less diplomatic with any man who had caused his daughter pain. "I am sorry for what I did to Lothíriel, for what I told her, Imrahil. I know it sounds senseless, but I truly thought it to be the best choice, I thought I was doing her a favour".

Imrahil sighed and rubbed his eyes: "I think a part of me have always known it".

He blinked: "Known what?".

"That you were trying to push her aside because you felt yourself unworthy: it wouldn't have been the first time. And truth to be told, after we came back from Harad, that same part of me, though ashamed, wished you two had never met, wished something better for her than…you".

Éomer stared at the Prince for a moment before sinking back in his chair: Imrahil had always been a perceptive man and he knew him well. Of course he must have suspected something, though maybe he hadn't even realized it himself. "I hadn't planned for things to go that way. I had left one letter for her and one for you, in the hope you would have kept her from following me to Edoras. But things went differently…".

"I've seen many men crippled by the war, Éomer. I've seen them losing their mind, their will to live, the affection for their beloved ones chocked by their self-loathing. I don't think any of us truly knows how we would react under such circumstances, and I pray it will stay that way".

Éomer hesitated, surprised by Imrahil's words, by his unexpected understanding.

The grey eyes of the Prince stared at him, tired, exhausted: "When Lothíriel arrived in Dol Amroth, when I saw her, the shadow of the young woman I knew her to be, I wished you had died, I wished there had been no Elvish antidote to Arondir's poison. Then we would have buried you, we would have mourned you and one way or the other, Lothíriel would have moved forward. But _that_ way…she detached herself completely, she locked herself in a place where none of us could reach her. And at some point, I started to fear she would have never wanted to get out".

Éomer thought back of that day at the tower, of the moment he saw her, thin, frail. The way she had retreated from him, thinking he had been but a cruel trick of her imagination: _you are not real…go away…please…_

"I understand, Imrahil. And I don't blame you. If I were you, I'd hav…".

"How could she?!", he interrupted him, snapping up from the chair and pacing restlessly up and down the room. "How could she disappear that way?! I have always thought her a caring, thoughtful young woman. And yet she cared nothing for her family: nothing!".

"She is, Imrahil: caring, thoughtful, young. Do you know how everything started between us?". The Prince threw him a murderous look but he went on: "Shortly after she arrived in Edoras, we visited the Hornburg to ensure everything was ready for the upcoming winter. At the time, I…I was struggling. Our situation was difficult, as I'm sure you remember, and I couldn't live with it, couldn't accept the fact that my people were going through so much difficulties, through starving and death, under my leadership. I worked day and night trying to fix everything and often failing miserably, I stopped listening to the advises of my friends for I was convinced they knew nothing, they could not understand how it felt. To sit here and take decisions that will likely determine whether my people, women, children, will survive the winter or not. I started to be tormented by awful headaches, was always in a foul mood. On our last night at the Hornburg, I had a nightmare, one of those that haunted me incessantly, and I must have cried for Lothíriel heard me. She worried something was wrong and entered my room".

He paused, realizing just then that sharing a story involving Lothíriel entering his bedroom at night might not have been his wisest choice. Alas, it was too late. "We knew each other since a few short days and up to that point, I hadn't been particularly…friendly, nor welcoming with her. Any other woman in her place, would have turned her head to the other side and pretended she hadn't heard anything. She didn't: she came in, refused to leave when I asked her to, took a chair and talked to me. In the months that followed she helped me as much as she could, she endured my swinging moods, she put up with my outbursts, and never once had she asked for anything in return, never once had she complained. Gamling adored her, I think he considered her the daughter he had never had".

The image of Lothíriel cradling his death body resurfaced through his memories and he tried to shake it aside: "She _is_ the most caring, thoughtful, wise young woman I have ever met, Imrahil. And she loves you, never doubt that. But after what has happened between us, she…I think she desperately needed to move forward and running away, cutting with her past, was the only way she thought it possible".

"That doesn't justify her", Imrahil retorted.

He raised a hand: "I know. And I'm sure she didn't try to justify herself either. All I'm saying, is don't let one selfish act obliterate everything else. She is still the Lothíriel you know, Imrahil".

The Prince sat heavily on his chair and rested his elbows on his knees: "I wish you tonever get to know what it feels like, Éomer. To have one of your children go missing. To see your sons devoured by their angst while you are barely able to keep yours at bay. As unfair as it sounds, the fact that it was Lothíriel who had gone missing, made it even worse. Boys, we teach them how to defend themselves, we arm them, we prepare them. Girls, what do we do? We lock them in a palace and teach them embroidery! All I could think of, was that she was out there, alone, and that the first prowler could have taken advantage of her!".

Éomer stood up and moved towards Imrahil, resting a hand on his shoulder: "She risked a lot and she was lucky, very lucky to find people who looked after her. Let's stop it at that, let's not dwell too much on what could have gone wrong".

Imrahil nodded: "And what of you, Éomer?".

"Me? Well, if anything, I've tried to learn a thing or two from all this mess. And I never stopped hoping that one day, she would have come back. I would have waited for her for the rest of my days, were it necessary".

"Back on the terrace, you stood together, welcomed us together…".

"We haven't married, if that's what you are asking. Officially speaking, she's not my wife yet".

"And unofficially?".

Éomer swallowed but held Imrahil's eyes: "Yes. That she is".

Imrahil stood and walked pensively around: "And what would you have me do now?".

"I'd have you consenting to our marriage".

The Prince laughed: a humourless, sarcastic laugh. "Do I have a choice, at this point?".

"No", he admitted. "I will marry her anyway, even it means compromising our diplomatic relations".

"Then why asking? Why waiting?".

"Because you are her father, Imrahil. Because without your presence here, without your blessing, this would only be a half wedding for Lothíriel. And for myself".

"So you say", he said, slowly making for the door.

* * *

Elphir's head peaked in: "Can I come in?".

Lothíriel strengthened in her chair: "Of course".

Pushing the door open with his shoulder, her brother entered the library, a heavy loaded tray in his hands. She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"That housekeeper…quite bossy, isn't she?".

She suppressed a chuckle: "Birthwyn forced you to bring me lunch?".

"More or less".

The smell of pork and gravy filled the room and despite all, she realized she felt ravenous. She eyed the giant portion of meat and shook her head: "Ever since I arrived, Birthwyn has been trying to stuff me with as much food as she can. I've tried to explain her that so much food can't possibly fit into my stomach, but it's wasted time!".

"That much food wouldn't even fit into _my_ stomach".

"Maybe we can share it? If you haven't eaten yet, that is", she proposed.

Elphir nodded and took place by the desk: "I haven't. I was with father".

Clasping her hands together, Lothíriel took a deep breath: "I am sorry, Elphir. For having disappeared, for having caused you so much troubles, so much worries".

Elhpir portioned the meat and passed her a mug of water: "It was hard, Lothíriel. Especially for father and Amrothos. They took on spending their evenings locked in father's study, looking over maps and making the wildest assumptions. What if you had been kidnapped, by whom, where would they bring you? What if you had been injured, where would you be taken? It became an obsession, they thought of nothing else, did nothing else. Had something really happened to you, had you never come back, I don't know how it would have ended up for them. You've seen father…".

She lowered her eyes, ashamed: "Yes. He…".

"He has aged of ten years in six months. King Elessar and Queen Arwen visited us a few months back: the Queen, she tried to ease our sorrow. She came to me once, told me that we shall not lose hope, for she felt in her heart that nothing evil had fallen upon you, and that one day, when the time was ready, you would have come back. In far less clear words naturally, for you know Elves: they make even the simplest thing sounds cryptic. She tried to deliver the same message to father, but I doubt he even heard her. As per Amrothos, when she approached him and tried to reassure him, I swear I thought he was on the verge of having a hysterical crisis!".

"How is he now?", she asked, her voice thin.

"Angry. Furious. Hurt. He declared he didn't want to see you, ever again, and then stormed out of the Palace".

"I understand", she said, the taste of the food in her mouth suddenly turning sour.

Elphir reached out and took her hand: "You know him: there is no middle-ground with him. Leaving him behind was probably for the best: had he come here, Valar knows what he could have done".

She chuckled despite the lump in her throat: "Something like trying to murder us?".

"Likely, yes"

She held his hand tight, grateful for his comfort: "Thank you, Elphir. For being here, for…for everything".

"I was also keen on seeing you and besides, I could not have possibly left father alone".

"What of you? How are you, brother? How are Gilraen and Alphros?".

He grinned: "Alphros is still the little tornado you remember. Possibly even worse! Gilraen is fine as well, we wouldn't have got through these past months without her. She took a lot on herself, there have been weeks when she basically found herself running the place alone".

"I'm sure she did an excellent job".

"She did. But it's good that things will go back to normal now, for I doubt she could have kept the same pace over the next few months".

Lothíriel narrowed her eyes, noticing his beaming smile: "Am I mistaken, or are congratulations in order?".

"You are not mistaken, sister. She is due beginning of August".

She laughed and walked quickly around the desk, squeezing her brother in a tight hug: "I'm so happy for you! I bet Alphros is very excited at the idea of having a brother or a sister!".

Elphir snorted: "He declared he would only welcome a brother. Because, and I quote, _girls are so…eeeehw_!".

" _Eeeehw?_ ".

"Precisely".

Their laughter filled the room and when Lothíriel walked back to her chair, she felt her spirit slightly lifted: "What do you think will happen now, Elphir?".

"I don't think father will oppose the wedding. And he will probably agree on staying here until the ceremony. But it will take time for things to settle down, Lothíriel. Don't expect him, nor Amrothos, to suddenly forget about the ordeal of the past months".

"Of course, I'd never expect such thing. Éomer said we could travel to Dol Amroth this summer, in three months or so. It would be a good timing for Gilraen and maybe things will be a bit better by then and Amrothos will accept seeing me".

"I'll do my best to that regard", he reassured her.

"As you always do, brother".

* * *

Imrahil, Elhpir and the Amrothian party ended up spending almost a month in Edoras.

Two weeks after their arrival, the city awoke to the thrill of an event which hadn't been seen in Rohan in many, many decades. Swelled with visitors arrived from every corner of the Mark, Edoras shone in all its splendour as the Prince of Dol Amroth led his daughter through the Golden Hall and placed her hand into the King's one.

On the day he took his leave, father and daughter held each other for a long time, whispered words and mixed feelings hanging in the air, heavy memories of a recent past that could not be so quickly forgotten, nor forgiven looming over them. And yet, despite the distance and the difficulties, time helped healing, broken relations were mended, fathers and daughters, brothers and sisters found each other again.

Summer gave way to autumn, autumn surrendered to winter and a white blanket of snow covered the plains of Rohan. In the warmth of their bed, King and Queen rested in each other arms, the promise of a new life to soon grace their days sparkling something deep within their hearts.

But nothing in life ever go as planned and new hurdles and old enemies would soon resurface, threatening to destroy and burn to ash all what they had fought for, all what they had built together. Their spirit and their resilience would be put to test, the people of Rohan would witness a beloved line of Kings resting on the brick of destruction, their future looking once again dark and uncertain.

...but that, it's a story for another time.

The End

* * *

 **Author's notes:** well that's it, folks. I had some unexpected free time and managed to finally close this story. I don't think Imrahil would have forgotten Lothíriel so easily, and that's why there was no sugar coated reunion. Imrahil's understanding towards Éomer may look strange, but given the time to think about it and with the knowledge that Lothíriel was alive and well, I believe Imrahil would understand Éomer. The poisoning had turned his life upside down and under such circumstances, his actions can be explained.

Since there were a few reviews about Lothíriel caring nothing for her family ( _silverswath_ I'm not necessarily talking about yours, which was a more articulate critic and one that helped me understanding what I could have done better), I will only say that we all do mistakes, especially when we are very young and especially at times when we are not able to think clearly. Was she careless at disappearing that way? You bet she was. Is she a careless person? Hell no. Does she regret it? Of course she does! Despite our best intentions, I believe it can happen that somewhen in our life, we might end up hurting the people we love. It's up to us to understand our mistakes, to prove we are better person that we acted, to apology to those who suffered because of our actions and hope they will be able to forgive us. Characters in this story have never been perfect or flawless (since the very first chapter, really) and Lothíriel is no exception.

I am not 100% sure about the sequel to this story: I have an idea which I think is quite good, but I will need time to refine it and shape it into something concrete. However, I really need a break from this specific Éomer-Lothiriel couple, because right now I feel a bit dried up. Which is why any one-shot I might be able to write in the coming weeks, won't focus on them. I'm starting to write another story about a very different Éomer-Lothiriel couple and taking place before the war, but I won't post it until I have at least a few chapters outlined. I have several trips planned in the next months (one of them being a three weeks on the road vacation in New Zealand: yay!), so time will be short. I hope I will manage to post something within a month or so and hopefully some of you will like it!

Lastly, I'd like to thank you for reading this story and leaving your reviews. It was my first attempt at writing a story, and doing it in a language that is not mine was quite the challenge. For such reasons, I expected the feedback to be rather scarce. Instead, I received many positive reviews, as well as some useful and constructive critics that I much welcomed. Plus, I linked with amazing readers around the world, which is great. So: grazie guys. At times, your words really made my day and that's the only reason I feel inspired to write more. You are awesome!

 _Guest:_ I hope I explained my point of view above. I'm sorry you didn't like this fanfic, but I guess that can happen. We all have different tastes and different expectations and my story clearly did not match yours. I will just say that Lothíriel did not easily forgive Éomer (otherwise she would have simply fallen back in his arms back at the Elven tower and wouldn't have waited 5 months to get back to him!). Yes, she did something terrible to her family, but it doesn't mean her family means nothing to her. I've had friends going through harsh times in their life and I've seen them turning self-destructive at times, simply destructive others. They were/are not careless people, but they were doing careless things. Not each of us have the strength and the wisdom to always see things for what they are, especially in our darkest moments and especially when we are young (that includes me). As per Éomer, yes: he told her awful things. Would I awake tomorrow and find myself paralyzed, what would I do? Would I find the strength to smile and move forward, or would I be consumed by anger and resentment? I don't know. Éomer did wrong, but I think his actions can be understood and, given time, forgiven.

 _AutumSparkle_ : not sure at which point of the story you are, but I'm glad you are liking it!


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